IRLF 


WHICH: 


THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT? 


Ufe  is  real— Life  is  EARNEST, 
ABU  the  grave  is  not  its  goai  :— 

Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 
Was  not  spoken  of  the  SOUL. 

LONGFKLLOW. 


NEW     YORK: 
GARRETT     &     CO.,     PUBLISHERS, 

NO.    1  8    ANN    STREET. 

1855. 


IVERS1  . 

DAVIS 


;3 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 
GARRETT    &    CO.. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 

IN  every  temple  dedicated  to  our  LORD — that  is  to  say,  in 
every  branch  of  the  One  Temple — there  are  two  churches,  viz. : 

The  Church  of  CHRIST,  which  is  a  church  of  goodness,  is  pro 
ductive  of  gentleness,  humility,  and  single-heartedness,  and  leads 
its  people  to  Happiness ; 

And, 

The  Church  of  SOCIETY,  which  is  a  church  of  evil,  is  productive 
of  pride,  arrogance,  and  selfishness,  and  leads  its  people  to 
Misery. 

The  first  is  made  up  of  The  Few,  who  walk  in  the  light  ol 
their  Redeemer's  countenance,  and  regard  their  Lord  as  their 
Patron. 

The  second  is  made  up  of  The  Many,  who  walk  in  the  light 
of  Money,  and  complacently  regard  themselves  as  The  Patrons 
of  THE  LORD. 

The  Few  worship  HIM  meekly,  lovingly,  contritely ;  the  Many 
fashionably,  elegantly,  superciliously. 

CHRIST'S  Christians  measure  all  men  by  the  goodness  of  their 
hearts,  and  the  gentleness,  simplicity,  and  correctness  of  their 
deportment,  as  prescribed  by  the  Law  of  God ; 

SOCIETY'S  G  ristians  measure  all  men  by  the  fullness  of  their 
pockets,  the  texture  of  their  coats,  and  the  correctness  of  their 
deportment,  as  prescribed  by  the  Law  of  Society. 

The  former  believe  that  all  things  should  be  done  for  the  glory 
of  their  Blessed  Lord,  who  is  their  all  in  all ; 

The  latter,  that  they  should  do  everything  for  their  own  glory 
— which  is  their  all  in  all. 


IV.  PREFACE. 

The  first  believe  that  Life  is  a  REAL  and  an  EARNEST  thing ; 
that  it  is  a  season  for  Action,  not  Play  ; 

The  second  believe  it  to  be  simply  a  Great  Joke. 

The  Few  believe  that  Man's  first,  last,  and  only  business  is,  To 
secure  his  inheritance  in  the  Bright  Beyond,  whose  duration  is 
eternal,  "  I  must  work  the  work  of  Him  that  sent  me,  while  it 
is  Day — for  the  Night  cometh,  wherein  no  man  can  work." 

The  Many  believe  that  Man's  first,  last,  and  only  business  is, 
To  accumulate  Money,  to  make  a  show,  and  to  be  talked  about — 
till  he  is  gone. 

The  first  believe  that  they  should  do  good  unto  all  men  ; 

The  second,  that  they  should  look  out  for  Number  One,  and 
let  others  do  the  same. 

CHRIST'S  Christians  believe  that  the  Business  of  life  consists  in 

Business  truthfulness ; 

Church  Membership ;  and 

The  right  of  every  Man  and  Woman  to  glide  onward  to 
Everlasting  Happiness,  piously,  peacefully,  and  lovingly. 

SOCIETY'S  Christians  recognize  as  legitimate — 

Business  lying ; 

Church  Membership  without  Religion  ;  and, 

The  right  of  every  Man  and  Woman  to  glide  down  to  Ever 
lasting  Perdition,  fashionably,  gracefully,  and  respectably. 

When,  therefore,  it  is  said  of  a  knowa  knave,  "  He  is  a  mem 
ber  of  The  Church," — it  ought  always  to  be  added,  "  of  Society's 
— not  CHRIST'S." 


DEDICATION. 


TO 


OF 

A     RARE      FRIEND     OF     HUMANITY 

THB    LATE 

a. 


A.MID    ALL    THE    TEMPTATIONS    OP    COMMERCE,    SOCIETY,    AND 
GREAT    WEALTH, 

$rcscvbctt    J)f»     Sjiftttual     Ernst, 

AND  DIED,  AS   HE   LIVED, 
A    MEEK    AND    HUMBLE    CHRISTIAN. 


WHICH: 

THE    RIGHT,   OR  THE    LEFT. 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  evening  of  the  5th  of  April,  184-,  was  a  solemn  one 
throughout  the  quiet,  secluded  town  of  Enfield.  Of  its  seven  or 
eight  hundred  inhabitants — composed,  with  three  or  four  excep 
tions,  exclusively  of  husbandmen  who  inherited  with  the  broad 
acres  of  their  fertile  farms,  the  industry,  the  intelligence,  and  the 
strong  religious  spirit  of  their  Huguenot  ancestors — there  was 
scarcely  one,  whether  old  or  young,  who  did  not  feel  like 
weeping.  For  Samuel — they  never  spoke  of  the  town's  only 
school-teacher  in  any  other  way,  nor  called  him  by  any  other 
name,  although  he  was  now  a  full-grown  man,  and  hard  upon 
his  twenty-fifth  year — Samuel,  the  mark  and  model  of  Enfield — 
Samuel,  their  beloved  pastor's  oldest  son — Samuel,  whom  every 
body  knew  and  whom  everybody  loved,  was  about  to  leave  them, 
to  try  his  fortunes  in  the  metropolis,  and  this  was  his  last  night 
at  home. 

A  stranger  to  Enfield,  had  one  been  there  on  the  evening  in 
question,  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  understand  why  so 
simple  an  event  as  the  departure  of  one  of  their  number — an 
every-day  occurrence  in  most  rural  districts — should  produce  so 
much  distress  upon  the  minds  of  its  people.  Nor  would  his 


8  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

surprise  have  lessened  in  any  perceivable  degree  until  he  had 
become  intimately  acquainted  with  the  religious  character  of  the 
inhabitants,  observed  the  tender  interest  which  they  took  in  one 
another's  welfare,  and  learned  the  strong  hold  which  moral  worth 
had  upon  their  simple,  honest  hearts. 

To  the  worthy  people  of  Enfield,  the  thought  of  losing  one 
wrhom  they  had  known  and  loved  from  his  infancy,  as  in  the 
school-teacher's  case,  was  a  trying  one.  They  could  hardly 
realize  it,  although  they  knew  it  to  be  true  :  for  the  fact  of  his 
intended  departure  had  been  rumored  for  a  long  time,  and  they 
had  all  been  to  the  parsonage  that  very  day,  and  shaken  their 
favorite  tenderly  and  feelingly  by  the  hand  for  the  last  time,  and 
left  him,  notwithstanding  his  assumed  calmness  and  his  pleasant 
smiles,  which  even  the  children  saw  through,  suffering  with  emo 
tions  equally  as  deep  and  mournful  as  their  own. 

Those  of  the  inhabitants  who  had  reached  life's  thoughtful 
autumn,  viewed  Samuel's  design  with  mingled  solicitude  and 
pain,  To  them  his  departure  appeared  like  a  dreadful  blow  to 
the  moral  interests  of  the  town.  They  had  known  him  from  his 
infancy ;  had  observed  the  singular  simplicity  and  marked 
uprightness  of  his  character,  and  had  held  him  up  to  their  chil 
dren  as  a  pattern  of  all  that  was  exemplary,  and  as  a  model 
worthy  of  their  love,  their  study,  and  their  imitation ;  and  with 
a  success  which  was  visible  in  the  minds  and  deportments  of  the 
larger  proportion  of  the  young  men  of  the  town.  And  now  this 
mind,  whose  purity,  strength,  simplicity,  and  clearness  had  be 
come  a  living  marvel — this  heart  whose  natural  nobleness,  and 
high  courage  in  all  things  relating  to  honor,  humanity,  and  reli 
gion,  had  stamped  its  owner  as  a  great  moral  hero — this  form, 
whose  deportment  was  not  more  remarkable  for  its  gracefulness 
than  for  its  meek,  unpretending  dignity — this  MAN,  whose  moral 
influence  was  visible  in  all  who  associated  or  came  in  contact 
with  him — whose  example  was,  in  all  things,  the  standard  of 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  9 

uprightness  and  correctness ;  whose  tranquil  happiness  impressed 
even  the  young,  inspired  them  with  a  tender  respect  for  heavenly 
things,  and  prompted  them  to  fly  spontaneously  to  religion,  the 
source  of  so  much  permanent  joy — whose  benevolent  spirit, 
radiating  like  the  sun,  spread  from  heart  to  heart,  in  young  and 
old,  until  nearly  all  the  town  had  realized  the  gentle  truth  that 
it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive ;  whose  rare  magna 
nimity,  while  it  ever  made  him  the  champion  of  the  weak,  led  him 
to  return  loving  words  for  harsh  ones,  and  to  repay  good  for 
evil,  as  if  evil  had  only  been  created  to  show  the  greater  beauty, 
strength,  and  power  of  goodness — whose  general  character  was 
gradually  influencing  all  within  the  circuit  of  his  rural  range,  and 
moulding  them  slowly  but  not  less  surely  into  so  many  reflexes 
of  his  own  upright  nature :  this  mind,  this  heart,  this  form,  this 
man  whom  all  knew,  whom  all  loved,  and  in  whom  all  had 
confidence ;  this  spirit  of  benevolence,  peace,  and  good-will— 
this  mark  and  model  of  the  town,  of  whom  young  and  old  had 
been  accustomed  to  say  :  l<  Behold !  this  is  Samuel,  the  upright !" 
— was  about  to  remove  from  their  midst,  not  temporarily,  but 
permanently — forever ! 

As  the  aged  ones  thought  of  all  this,  their  pious  hearts  were 
shaken  mournfully.  It  was  true  he  would  leave  many  glorious 
natures  whom  his  own  example  had  likened  to  himself,  behind 
him ;  but  not  one — no,  not  one — whose  name  was  so  familiar, 
so  loved,  or  so  significant  of  goodness,  as  his  own  ;  not  one  who 
had  been  noted  from  his  earliest  years  for  the  purity  of  his 
thoughts  equally  with  himself — not  one  who  enjoyed  so  large  a 
measure  of  public  confidence ;  not  one  whose  patronymic  was 
the  synonyme,  with  young  and  old,  of  all  that  was  pure,  and 
good,  and  noble — in  a  word,  not  one  SAMUEL. 

The  good  old  hearts  were  sadly  moved  as  they  reflected  upon 
this.  They  had  always  appreciated  the  worth  of  their  young 
friend ;  but  they  had  never  fully  comprehended  his  exceeding 
1* 


10  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

richness  in  those  qualities  which  invest  their  possessors  with 
absolute  moral  grandeur,  nor  dreamed  of  the  deep  hold  which 
he  had  upon  their  affections,  until  now — now  that  they  were  about 
to  lose  him.  Once  before  they  had  taken  leave  of  him ;  but 
it  was  only  for  a  time,  that  he  might  finish  at  college  the  educa 
tion  which  he  had  begun  under  his  father,  their  pastor.  Then 
they  knew  he  would  return,  and  he  did  return ;  but  it  was  to 
take  a  firmer  hold  than  ever  of  their  hearts,  and  to  prove  to 
them  that  all  the  bright  promise  of  the  Christian  boy  was  more 
than  fulfilled  in  the  Christian  man.  But  there  was  no  hope  of 
that  kind  to  console  them  now.  His  departure  on  the  morrow 
was  to  be  a  final  one ;  and,  save  perhaps  an  annual  visit  or  so, 
the  scenes  of  his  youth  and  the  friends  of  his  youth  would  know 
him  henceforth  no  more. 

All  this  touched  the  hearts  of  the  old  folks  deeply,  as  only 
hearts  can  be  touched  that  feel  an  abiding  interest  in  the  place 
where  they  were  born,  and  in  the  morals  of  the  generation  that 
shall  rule  its  destinies  when  they  themselves  shall  have  passed 
away. 

From  these  considerations,  the  old  thinking  hearts  of  Enfield 
passed  to  the  chances  of  the  young  man  himself  in  the  great 
city  whither  he  was  bound.  The  good  souls  themselves  had  not 
gone  through  life's  long,  crooked  lane  without  gathering  pearls  of 
wisdom  on  the  way.  They  had  seen  flowers  fall,  as  well  as  blos 
som,  in  the  spring ;  they  had  seen  them  fade  and  wither  in  the 
summer,  and  drop  long  before  the  airs  of  autumn  or  the  chill 
breath  of  winter  had  approached,  and  the  lesson  was  remem 
bered,  and  stored  away  with  other  memories  which  had  been 
garnered  by  experience  as  well.  They  had  seen  brave  oaks  which 
had  long  withstood  the  tempest,  riven  and  hurled  headlong  to  the 
earth  in  unlooked-for  hours ;  while  younger  trees,  that  had  bent 
timidly  to  every  storm,  escaped,  and  grew  bravely,  and  boldly, 
and  firmly  into  strong  and  stalwart  giants,  that  laughed  to  scorn 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  11 

the  roar  and  energies  of  the  fiercest  hurricane.  Would  Samuel 
withstand  the  pressure  of  temptation  as  firmly  1  Would  their 
flower,  who  had  been  reared  amid  the  pure  airs  and  free  sun 
shine  of  the  country,  bear  up  as  bravely  in  the  withering  hot 
house  atmosphere  of  city  plants "? 

They  knew  the  city  well,  these  old  hearts  of  Enfield.  They 
understood  the  operation  of  its  blighting  breath  upon  its  own 
sons  and  daughters,  whom  its  tiger-nature  rarely  spared ;  and 
they  knew,  too,  while  it  welcomed  with  its  brightest  smiles  and 
its  gentlest  tones  every  rural  stranger  Jhat  approached  its  gates, 
that  its  smiles  were  hollow  as  its  own  heart,  and  its  dulcet  voice 
assumed  to  beguile  them  to  destruction.  And  they  would  not 
have  their  Samuel — their  Samuel,  at  once  their  fairest  flower,  and 
their  bravest  oak — fall  a  victim  to  its  wiles. 

They  remembered  how,  many  years  before,  Deacon  Morley's 
son,  a  brave,  intelligent,  moral-minded  youth,  had  left  Enfield  for 
the  city ;  how  he  grew  in  time,  amid  the  temptations  which  sur 
rounded  him,  to  acquire  the  factitious  ways  and  thoughts  of  those 
who  lived  there,  and  to  forget  the  pious  ways  and  thoughts  of 
his  own  people ;  how  he  turned,  by  degrees,  from  the  simple 
habits  of  his  youth  and  the  high  moral  aim  which  the  good  deacon 
had  labored  so  many  years  to  impress  indelibly  upon  his  heart ; 
how  he  yielded,  slowly,  to  be  sure,  but  in  the  end  yielded,  to 
the  tempting  voice  of  ambition,  and  became  at  length  a  cold, 
calculating  getter  of  riches,  for  riches'  sake  alone  ;  how  he  fell, 
step  by  step,  from  his  original  love  of  truth  and  fair,  manly  deal 
ing,  into  the  gulf  of  falsehood,  meanness,  and  that  equivocal 
honesty  which  is  just  inside  the  law ;  how,  using  falsehood,  hypoc 
risy  and  dishonesty  for  his  ladder,  he  mounted  step  by  step  to 
power  and  high  fortune — despised  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  to 
the  great  sorrow  of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  most  of  whom 
still  preserved,  sacred  and  inviolate,  the  moral  purity  which 
had  been  bequeathed  to  them  by  their  sires ;  how  his  fall  from 


12  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

uprightness  broke  the  heart  of  the  good  old  deacon  his  father, 
while  it  brought  to  the  stricken  spirit  of  her  who  had  borne  him 
the  mournful  consciousness  that  her  boy's  departure  from  truth, 
for  the  sake  of  worldly  gain,  had  destroyed  all  hope  of  their  re 
union  in  that  better  land  which  none  but  the  just  can  enter; 
how  he  grew  rich  and  cold,  and  hard,  till  he  became  lost  in  the 
vortex  of  his  vast  wealth — his  heart  eaten  up  by  pride  and  pomp 
and  glitter  to  the  last !  They  would  not  have  their  Samuel  fall 
like  Deacon  Morley's  son,  for  the  world. 

Then  there  was  neighbor  Grantley's  son.  He,  too,  had  gone 
to  the  city,  carrying  with  him,  as  was  generally  hoped  and  be 
lieved,  the  innocence,  integrity,  and  piety  of  his  youth.  The  law 
had  a  charm  for  him,  and  he  embraced  it.  His  friends  were 
fearful ;  but  he  assured  them  in  his  letters,  that  he  would  be 
firm,  that  he  would  preserve  the  purity  of  his  heart  and  the 
confidence  of  his  Redeemer ;  and  that,  come  professional  failure 
or  success,  he  would  never  take  up  a  case  that  had  not  the 
right  on  its  side.  His  friends  hoped,  prayed,  and  trusted.  A 
year  flew  by — two — three — and  report  stated  that  the  young 
advocate  was  a  rising  man,  and  that  he  had  been  true  to  his 
promise.  Who  shall  depict  the  joy  of  all  Enfield  at  this  glad 
tidings  1  But  by-and-bye  another  rumor  came,  and  their  hearts 
were  saddened.  Grantley  had  at  length  fallen.  Talent  is  better 
paid  on  the  side  of  wrong  than  on  that  of  right.  Not  content 
with  a  fair  and  growing  income,  he  had  caught  the  city  fever — 
ambition.  He  no  longer  remembered  the  bright  lessons  of  his 
youth — he  no  longer  thought  of  the  glorious  crown  which  awaits 
the  hero  who  holds  out  to  the  end — greed  was  now  his  object, 
the  empty  praise  of  a  hollow-hearted  world  his  leading  aspira 
tion.  For  these  he  threw  his  rare  talent  to  the  highest  bidder ; 
for  these  he  cast  aside  his  piety,  his  purity,  his  moral  manhood. 
For  a  few  years  of  wealth,  and  that  men  might  say  of  him  "  Be 
hold  one  of  our  city's  great!"  he  had  sundered  all  ties  that  bound 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  13 

him  to  the  lowly  few ;  had  sent  an  arrow  to  the  two  mild  lov 
ing  hearts  who .  had  never  forgotten  their  own  allegiance  to 
their  King  and  Prince ;  had  swept  away  his  chances  of  becoming 
one  of  that  noble  multitude  whose  highest  ambition  is  to  enjoy 
the  friendship  of  their  Maker  throughout  eternity.  He  fell  as 
men  fall  who  give  up  truth  for  money.  From  that  hour  his  peace 
of  heart  was  gone ;  in  its  place  came  wealth,  reputation  and  posi 
tion.  His  tireless  energies,  his  intellectual  powers,  and  the 
faculty  which  he  had  acquired  of  using  truth  and  falsehood  as 
they  suited  his  purposes,  helped  him  hi  time  to  a  judgeship. 
Here  he  was  willing  to  rest,  having  achieved  the  two  objects  of 
his  ambition — riches  and  a  name.  But  at  what  a  sacrifice  !  His 
integrity  to  his  God — where  was  that?  His  once  guileless 
heart — where  was  that  1  His  simplicity  of  mind,  the  connecting 
link  between  his  conscience  and  his  acts — where  was  that  ?  His 
once  brave  spirit,  which  dared  all  things  for  the  right,  and  quailed 
only  before  wrong — where  was  that1?  His  father's  peace,  his 
mother's  love,  the  confidence  of  his  friends,  the  approving  smile 
of  his  Prince,  his  seat  around  the  heavenly  throne — where  were 
they  ?  What  had  he  in  their  stead  ?  Riches — a  feeble  posi 
tion  among  men — a  reputation  for  legal  craftiness — a  broken, 
bankrupt,  worn-out  body  —  and  a  consciousness  that  he  had 
betrayed  the  trust  reposed  in  him  by  his  God.  !  What  wages ! 

The  good  old  hearts  of  Enfield  would  not  have  their  Samuel 
fall  like  Grantley. 

And  yet  they  knew  that  their  young  friend  would  be  tried,  as 
all  are  tried  who  set  foot  in  cities  and  delve  in  the  fields  of  busi 
ness  in  quest  of  fortune.  For  he  had  talent,  energy,  and  Intel- 
ligence  —  qualities  which  command  success  everywhere,  but 
especially  in  the  metropolis  where  opportunities  are  continually 
turning  up  to  incite  them  to  exertion.  But  what  kind  of  figure 
would  Samuel,  with  his  simple  mind  and  honest  heart,  cut  in  that 
great  crowd  of  business  strugglers  where  every  man  has  a  double 


14  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

mind — one  for  his  fellows,  and  another  for  himself ;  where  men 
smile  lovingly  upon  those  whom  they  are  plotting  to  destroy ; 
where  hypocrisy  is  the  study  of  men's  lives ;  where  men  mine 
and  countermine  for  the  purpose  of  rising  upon  each  other's 
ruin ;  where  men  blind  one  another  with  false  reports  to  veil 
the  triumphal  passage  of  their  own  respective  movements ; 
where  men  are  not  what  they  seem ;  and  where,  it  would  appear, 
Honesty  is  laughed  sneeringly  aside,  and  Knavery  alone  marches 
forward  to  success  ?  What  could  be  hoped  for  Samuel,  with  all 
his  truth,  his  candor,  his  simplicity,  and  his  piety,  in  a  cauldron, 
steaming  with  all  the  ingredients  of  roguery  like  this  ?  Place 
his  honest  mind  in  collision  with  that  of  a  sharp  city  fox — what 
then  ?  Put  a  lamb  in  the  presence  of  a  wolf  for  ten  minutes,  and 
then  look  for  what  is  left  of  the  lamb  ! 

The  good  old  hearts  felt  sad  at  this  prospect  of  their  favor 
ite's.  They  hoped  he  would  succeed,  but  with  their  knowledge 
of  the  temptations  which  beleaguer  all  men  in  New  York,  they 
could  perceive  but  little  to  encourage  that  hope.  With  their 
view  of  moral  responsibility,  it  was  comparatively  impossible  for 
an  honest  man  to  pass  through  the  perilous  journey  of  business 
with  profit.  Still  it  might  be  done ;  and  if  so,  Samuel,  of  all 
men,  was  the  one  to  test  it.  His  effort,  at  least,  would  be  a  gallnat 
one ;  for  he  was  young,  and  had  a  young  man's  energies  ;  brave, 
with  a  brave  man's  will ;  prudent,  with  a  prudent  man's  careful 
ness;  together  with  a  ripe,  well-balanced  mind,  which  would 
equally  preserve  him  from  summary  conclusions,  hastiness  of 
action,  and  undue  errors  in  judgment.  In  any  event,  they  knew 
he  would  be  faithful  to  the  great  aim  of  the  Christian's  being — 
that,  come  failure  or  success,  he  would  never  lose  sight  of  the 
great  trust  which  is  reposed  in  every  Christian — the  purity  of 
his  own  heart.  Meanwhile,  they,  like  true  men  in  the  Lord,  would 
pray  for  him,  and  invoke  the  Divine  Eye  to  be  ever  over  him, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  15 

and  the  Divine  Hand  to  be  ever  near  him ;  for  he  was  a  brother  in 
a  perilous  pass — A  BROTHER  IN  DISTRESS. 

And  from  many  a  hearth  in  Enfield,  there  ascended,  on  that 
and  many  a  night  besides,  many  a  touching  prayer,  of  which 
this  was  the  pith  and  idea  :  "  Be  thou,  O  Lord  !  with  SAMUEL — 
with  SAMUEL,  O  Lord  !" 


CHAPTER     II. 

THE  inmates  of  the  parsonage  consisted  of  the  pastor  him 
self,  his -wife,  their  two  sons,  Samuel  and  little  Joe,  the  latter 
in  his  seventh  year,  and  Betsy  the  housekeeper,  who,  having 
occupied  that  position  ever  since  our  hero  was  an  infant,  re 
garded  herself  as  a  regular  member  of  the  family. 

Mr.  Leland,  the  pastor,  judging  by  the  silver  which  intermin 
gled  with  the  short  jet  hair  which  covered  his  fine  Roman  head, 
was  somewhat  turned  of  fifty.  Though  only  slightly  above 
the  medium  height,  the  slenderness  of  his  make  gave  him  a 
commanding  appearance.  His  features  were  small,  but  defined 
with  a  boldness  and  delicacy  which  made  them  singularly  im 
pressive.  The  dark  eyes  were  full  of  depth,  and  their  amber 
clearness  indicated  a  ripe,  well-balanced  and  richly  stored  intel 
lect,  tempered  with  fine  observation  and  experience.  The  tone 
of  the  face  was  that  of  a  man  whose  mind  associated  only  with 
high  and  serious  things,  and  whose  heart  could  only  be  enlisted 
by  the  finer  phases  of  humanity. 

Mrs.  Leland  was  a  small,  fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  delicately 
formed  lady ;  and  although  of  nearly  the  same  age  as  her  part- 


16  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

ner,  time  had  dealt  gently  by  her.  Her  fair  face,  straight  fea 
tures,  and  girl-like  form,  bating  a  certain  thoughtful,  matronly 
air,  were  still  almost  as  young,  graceful,  and  winning  as  on 
her  wedding  night,  some  six-and-t wen ty  years  before.  A  single 
glance  at  her  mild,  seraphic  countenance  would  have  satisfied 
the  most  inexperienced  observer  that  her  mind  was  a  casket 
of  pure  thoughts,  and  her  heart  a  fountain  'of  rare  tenderness 
and  feeling,  tinctured  with  an  abiding  consciousness  of  moral 
responsibility.  - 

Samuel  was,  in  height,  shape,  and  general  appearance,  the 
counterpart  of  his  father.  He  had  the  same  earnest  air,  the 
same  boldness  and  delicacy  of  feature,  the  same  resolute  lip,  the 
same  indications  of  elevated  thought,  and  the  same  quiet  dig 
nity  of  manner — mingled,  however,  with  the  serenity,  tender 
ness,  and  depth  of  feeling  which  shone  so  conspicuously  in  the 
countenance  of  his  mother. 

Little  Joe  was  a  slender,  fair-haired  boy,  of  seven  or  eight 
summers.  He  had  the  fine  Roman  features  of  his  father,  with 
the  blue,  lustrous  eyes,  so  redolent  of  angelic  sweetness,  of  his 
maternal  parent.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  singularly 
mild  and  pleasant ;  but  it  only  required  a  glance  to  tell  an  ob 
server  that  the  two  bright  blue  orbs  whose  beauty  so  much 
charmed  him,  were,  like  two  imprisoned  souls,  shut  out  forever 
from  the  light  of  the  beautiful  world  around  them.  Poor  little 
Joe  was  blind.  He  had  but  one  companion,  but  of  that  one  he 
never  tired.  It  accompanied  him  all  the  day ;  it  was  his  only 
bed-fellow  when  he  laid  him  down  at  night.  This  companion 
was  a  small  flageolet,  which  had  been  presented  him  by  his 
brother  some  three  years  before.  With  his  flageolet,  little  Joe 
was  usually  as  happy  as  a  king.  He  would  talk  to  it,  fondle  it, 
and  play  with  it,  as  if  it  were  a  human  thing,  and  understood 
and  could  return  it  all.  When  tired  of  exercising  with  his  in 
strument  thus,  he  would  apply  its  mouth-piece  to  his  lips,  and, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  17 

as  ho  laughingly  expressed  it,  make  it  talk  back,  which  it  did,  in 
its  own  peculiar  way.  Then  his  blue,  sightless  eyes  would  fall, 
with  a  loving  expression,  upon  the  body  of  his  friend,  and  every 
sense  was  swallowed  up  in  listening  to  its  voice.  The  melody 
that  followed  depended  altogether  upon  the  state  of  the  player's 
feelings  at  the  moment.  If  anything  occurred  to  sadden  him — as, 
however,  was  rarely  the  case,  for  great  care  was  taken  by  the 
household,  as  well  as  by  their  visitors,  to  give  a  sunny  tone  to 
every  word  uttered  in  his  hearing, — his  flageolet  took  a  plain 
tive  strain,  which  told  of  the  mournful  pageant  that  was  passing 
through  his  little  heart.  If  gay,  the  music  of  the  song-bird,  when 
trilling  its  merits  to  its  coquettish  mistress,  was  not  more  sweet 
or  inspiriting  than  the  melody  of  Joe's  pipe.  It  is  true,  Joe, 
or  rather,  his  instrument,  could  play  but  a  single  tune,  and  that 
it  was  always  the  same  tune ;  but  then,  if  it  wras,  it  had  its  vari 
ations,  like  any  other  tune,  and  Joe  could  play  them  all :  for  the 
tune  itself,  with  all  the  variations,  was  of  Joe's  own  composing, 
and  though,  as  a  tune,  it  might  make  a  professor  of  music  smile, 
yet,  to  Joe  himself  and  all  in  the  parsonage,  and,  for  that  mat 
ter,  everybody  in  Enfield,  too,  it  was  just  such  a  tune  as  no 
other  composer  ever  made  or  could  make,  let  him  be  ever  so 
great.  But  it  was  a  tune  that  Joe  loved,  and  all  in  the  parson 
age  loved,  and  all  Enfield,  too,  because  it  was  Joe's  own.  It 
might  not  have  been  composed — we  incline  to  the  opinion  it  was 
not — according  to  the  regular  rule,  but  for  all  that,  it  was  a  tune, 
— one  which  the  members  of  the  parsonage  prized  more  than  all 
other  tunes  in  the  world,  and  one  which,  while  it  frequently  made 
them  smile,  often  drew  tears  of  anguish  to  their  eyes ;  for,  when 
the  voice  of  the  pipe  was  sad,  they  knew  that  it  merely  uttered 
the  feelings  of  the  poor  blind  boy. 

Aunt  Betsy  was  a  short,  stout,  active,  happy  old  soul,  with  the 
silver  of  sixty  winters  under  her  close-fitting  cap.  Although 
"  waxin  in  years,"  as  the  good  old  creature  was  wont  to  observe, 


18  WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  she  had  no  notion  of  givin'  in  yet.  She  was  of  a  race  who 
never  gave  in  afore  a  hundred,  and  she  intended,  the  Lord  wil- 
lin !  to  hold  out  to  the  reg'lar  time.  There  was  her  great- 
gran'father,  who  fout  the  Injins  ever  so  far  back,  when  they 
were  thick  as  bees  round  Enfield ;  he  got  wownded  in  more'n 
twenty  places,  and  yet  he  lived  his  hundred  out  full,  and  two 
years  over.  Then  gran'father  John,  who  fout  the  British  in  the 
Revolution  times,  and  got  wownded  in  the  head  by  a  British  bul 
let,  which  they  found  afterwards  in  a  tree  right  behind  where  he 
had  stood,  lived  on  to  his  hundred.  Then  there  was  her  father, 
John  Fargis — everybody  had  heerd  of  him — he  was  postmaster 
in  Enfield,  once,  and  therefore  a  hearable  man ; — he  didn't  give 
in  nuther  till  he'd  made  his  hundred,  with  three  years  more,  be 
sides  :  and  she  meant  to  keep  up  the  number.  If  her  dead  and 
gone  man,  Frank  Disosway,  hadn't  went  and  fout  the  Britishers 
in  the  last  war,  and  bin  killed,  he'd  most  likely  bin  alive  still ; 
for  he  was  of  a  long  race,  too,  who  always  held  out  till  ninety. 
As  for  herself,  she  was  young  enough  yet.  She  didn't  say  it  to 
coax  for'ard  another  husband,  for  she  didn't  want  and  wouldn't 
have  another,  if  she  was  enticed  ever  so  hard — she  knew  her  feel- 
ins  as  Frank  Disosway's  widder  too  well  for  that — and  so  there 
was  no  use  in  any  one's  offering.  But  she  was  young  enough 
yet — she  knew  that — and  she  meant,  the  Lord  willin !  to  hold 
out  to  the  reg'lar  time !" 

Excepting  in  her  hours  of  sleep,  in  which  the  worthy  house 
keeper  was  as  regular  as  night  itself,  Aunt  Betsy's  eye  and  hand 
were  always  busy.  The  most  captious  fault-finder  would  have 
failed  to  detect  a  solitary  flaw  in  anything  belonging  to  her  de 
partment.  She  was  neatness  and  economy  personified.  Every 
thing  in  and  about  the  parsonage  bore  a  thrifty  and  an  inviting 
look.  A  speck  or  stain,  either  in  the  house  or  around  it,  would 
have  been  as  difficult  to  discover  as  a  mine  of  gold  or  a  bed  of 
pearls.  Parlor,  bed-rooms  and  kitchen  were  always  as  bright, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  19 

clean  and  cheery  as  the  smiling  face  and  trim,  modest  coun 
tenance  of  the  good  old  soul  herself.  When  everything  else  was 
done,  Aunt  Betsy  had  her  knitting  to  do,  and  that  was  never 
finished.  Morning  and  evening,  summer  and  winter,  every  other 
wise  unemployed  moment  was  devoted  to  knitting — her  eyes 
meanwhile  wandering  all  around,  above  and  below  her,  to  see  if 
a  speck  had  previously  escaped  her,  if  anything  had  been  left 
unfinished,  if  anything  required  attention,  and  if  everybody 
around  her  was  perfectly  comfortable. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  the  members  of  the  household 
were  grouped  around  the  parlor  hearth  :  for  old  winter's  breath 
lingered  yet  in  the  cold  airs  of  spring. 

On  the  right,  in  her  straight,  high-backed  chair,  sat  Aunt  Betsy, 
knitting  away,  for  dear  life ;  the  master  of  the  parsonage,  with 
his  wife  and  eldest  son  on  either  side  of  him,  occupied  the  centre ; 
on  the  left,  beside  the  mantel-frame,  was  little  Joe. 

It  was  a  tender  and  a  touching  scene. 

Aunt  Betsy  was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement,  as  was  evidenced 
by  the  extraordinary  rapidity  with  which  her  needles  and  fingers 
chased  one  another  in  her  knitting ;  her  face  was  pale,  too,  and  a 
tear-drop,  which  would  not  be  restrained,  fell  every  now  and 
then  from  her  moist  eyelids  to  her  cheeks,  from  whence  it  glided 
to  the  finger  tips  as  they  worried  the  glittering  needles.  In  very 
truth,  the  dear  old  soul  was  very  sad :  why,  could  easily  be  guessed 
from  her  frequent  stolen  glances  at  the  young  handsome  face  of 
him  who  was  to  leave  the  parsonage  on  the  morrow,  for  a  stern, 
manly  struggle  with  the  world. 

Samuel  himself  was  the  only  one  in  the  party  whose  features 
wore  a  happy  and  contented  look.  But  it  was  all  assumed, 
as  every  one  around  him  knew,  to  veil  his  heaviness  of  heart, 
and  to  inspire  his  companions  with  a  cheerfulness  which  he  was 
conscious,  after  all,  they  could  not  feel. 

Mr.  Leland,  the  pastor,  was  grave,  thoughtful,  and  apparently 


20  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

tranquil.  But  everybody  there  knew  that  his  big  heart  was  suffer 
ing  ;  and  when,  as  sometimes  happened,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  he  put  on  a  smiling  look,  they  felt  intuitively  that  he 
was  then  suffering  the  most. 

Mrs.  Leland  did  her  best  to  appear  cheerful ;  but  her  attempts 
were  so  feeble  and  transparent,  that  even  little  Joe,  as  his  fine, 
sensitive  ear  caught  the  tones  of  her  voice,  understood  what  was 
passing  in  her  breast. 

Of  all  the  group,  poor  blind  Joe  deserved  sympathy  the  most. 
Too  young  to  call  the  stoicism  of  philosophy  to  his  aid,  he  was 
the  victim  of  a  heart  which  was  wholly  made  up  of  sensitiveness 
and  feeling.  His  little  head  was  almost  bursting  with  its  big, 
painful  thoughts.  He  felt  that  all  around  the  hearth  were  suffer 
ing  ;  and  as  he  loved  them  all  with  indescribable  fervency,  the 
intense  sadness  of  his  spirit  may  be  readily  imagined.  Of  his 
own  individual  grief  he  was  scarcely  conscious,  if  indeed  he 
thought  of  it  at  all.  And  yet  his  great  heart  was  almost  break 
ing  with  its  woe.  Seated  in  his  little  chair,  he  spoke  to  no  one 
but  his  friend  the  flageolet,  through  which  he  poured  out,  in  the 
mournfullest  of  strains,  the  sad  burden  of  his  soul :  his  blue, 
sightless  orbs  turned,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  sorrow  and 
affection,  upon  the  sympathizing  pipe,  while  a  small  tearful  rill 
glided  silently,  but  steadily,  from  his  either  eyelid  to  the  fever- 
heated  cheek  below. 

The  conversation  was  principally  carried  on  by  Mr.  Leland 
and  our  hero — Mrs.  Leland  rarely  venturing  a  remark,  and  Aunt 
Betsy  scarcely  uttering  a  word. 

It  was  a  solemn  parting  hour  between  two  loving  parents  and 
an  equally  loving  son.  Much  was  therefore  said,  and  much  left 
unsaid:  for  each  instinctively  felt  the  propriety  of  uttering 
nothing  which  would  call  up  a  painful  thought,  and  both  desiring 
to  leave  a  cheerful  impress  on  the  other's  mind.  At  length 
the  conversation  took  a  more  general  turn. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  21 

"  Samuel,  my  son,"  began  the  pastor,  speaking  in  a  livelier  tono 
than  his  feelings  had  yet  permitted  him  to  assume,  "you  will 
carry  with  you  the  consolation  that  your  little  friends  of  the 
school-room  are  in  good  hands.  Mr.  Griswold,  your  successor, 
happily  combines  with  the  ripeness  of  the  scholar,  the  refine 
ment  of  the  gentleman,  and  the  earnest  piety  of  the  Christian." 

"True,  father ;  and  when  the  little  ones  learn  his  worth,  they 
will  love  him  as  we  do." 

"  He  comes  of  a  good  stock,"  continued  the  worthy  pastor. 
"  As  far  back  as  we  can  trace, — and  that  dates  with  the  first  settle 
ment  of  the  town — the  Griswolds  have  borne  the  good  man's 
name !" 

"They're  of  good  blood — always  hold  out  till  ninety-five!" 
observed  Aunt  Betsy  quietly  to  herself.  "  They  showed  the 
true  grit  in  the  Revolution  times.  One  of  'em  fout  side  by  side 
with  gran'father,  and  got  a  bullet  in  the  left  knee.  I've  heered 
of  it  often,  in  the  old  winter  nights,  from  gran'father." 

"  Frank,"  ventured  Mrs.  Lindsay,  speaking  of  the  new  teacher, 
"  is  a  nephew  of  Mr.  Townsend  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  on  his  mother's  side,"  answered  the  clergyman. 

"  Poor  blood !"  remarked  the  simple-minded  housekeeper  to 
herself.  "  Always  give  on*  a  little  this  side  of  seventy.  Good- 
natur'd,  and  fond  of  money,  but  always  exact  in  their  dealins." 

"  Mr.  Townsend,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  is  one  in  a  thousand. 
Amid  all  the  temptations  of  commerce,  he,  from  all  I  can  gather, 
maintains  an  unsullied  name.  Were  it  otherwise,  believe  me, 
my  son,  I  should  hesitate  long  before  intrusting  your  business 
novitiate  to  his  house.  Mr.  Grosvenor,  our  village  merchant, 
who  is  one  of  his  correspondents,  represents  him  as  a  fair  man 
in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  term.  He  is  spoken  of  by  all  whom 
I  find  in  connection  with  him  as  an  honest,  truth-telling  mer 
chant,  and  as  they  speak  from  a  long  business  acquaintance  with 
him,  and  are  themselves  truth-telling  men,  there  is  good  reason 


22  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

for  believing  in  the  correctness  of  their  report.  With  such  a 
man  for  an  instructor  and  employer,  you  will,  my  son,  enjoy 
advantages  which  fall  to  the  lot  of  few  in  their  primary  business 
course." 

"  I  feel  grateful  for  them,  father  !" 

"And  I,  my  son.  But,"  turning  his  eye  towards  his 
youngest  born,  "  poor  Joe  takes  your  departure  sadly.  How 
mournfully  he  utters  the  solemn  feelings  of  his  heart !  Poor 
boy !"  he  added,  stifling  a  sigh,  "  he  is  all  heart !  Nay,  my 
dear,"  to  his  wife,  who  was  about  to  catch  up  the  poor  blind 
child  to  her  breast,  "do  not  touch  him.  Let  him  finish  his 
plaintive  hymn ;  his  heart  will  sooner  be  relieved." 

"  Poor  Joe  !"  murmured  Aunt  Betsy,  running  her  needles 
more  furiously  than  ever.  "He  will  never  hold  out  to  his 
people's  seventy  !  Hearts  like  his  were  never  made  for  a  rough 
world  like  this !  Poor  Joe — my  natur's  bieedin'  for  you,  dear !" 

Samuel  was  shaken  in  his  resolution  at  the  sight. 

"  Father,"  he  'whispered. 

"  No,  my  son — no,"  returned  the  pastor,  shaking  his  head  as 
he  met  and  understood  the  young  man's  glance.  "Resolves, 
once  made,  should  be  firm — if  they  be  founded  upon  good  intents 
and  worthy  thoughts !  Poor  boy !"  he  added,  alluding  to  Joe, 
"  it  is  natural  to  him  to  weep  at  small  sorrows, — how  much 
more  at  great  ones !  A  few  days,  and  sunshine  will  come  to 
him  again.  Let  him,"  he  continued,  with  a  violent  effort  to 
recover  his  own  composure,  "  let  him  sing  out  his  grief — he  will 
be  happier  when  it  is  told  !  To  break  your  own  resolution 
would  be  wrong — to  interrupt  the  outpouring  of  that  little  heart 
cruel !  Let  us  resume  our  discourse." 

"  Proceed,  dear  father." 

"  I  had  hoped,  my  son,  that  when  I  should  be  summoned  from 
my  post,  you  would  be  my  successor  in  that  sacred  office,  as  1 
succeeded  my  father,  as  my  father  succeeded  his,  and  as  he  sue- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  23 

ceeded  his,  the  original  founder  of  our  village  church.  Nay,  do 
not  grieve.  Let  us  rather  consider  the  matter  in  a  calm, 
philosophic  light,  and  not  in  that  of  feeling.  My  hope  was  a 
cherished  one,  I  confess ;  but  it  was  not  to  meet  with  a  fulfil 
ment.  While  it  agreed  with  your  own  sentiments  up  to  the 
date  of  your  entrance  into  college,  it  did  not  meet  with  your 
views  after  your  return  from  it.  There  your  copious  draughts 
from  the  luminous  fount  of  varied  knowledge,  and  your  collision, 
for  the  first  time,  with  bold,  cultivated,  miscellaneous  minds, 
while  they  deepened  and  enlarged  your  own  conceptions,  gave 
them  at  the  same  time  another  tone  as  well  as  a  widely  different 
current.  Bear  in  mind,  my  son,  that  I  do  not  complain  of 
this ;  I  only  repeat  it  as  a  fact,  or  rather  as  an  illustration  for 
your  future,  to  show  you  how  radical  are  the  changes  in  our 
views  when  we  associate  or  come  in  contact  with  minds  to  which 
we  are  unaccustomed,  and  which  have  penetrated  further  than 
our  own  into  the  enlightening  realms  of  observation,  general 
learning,  and  mental  criticism." 

"  I  understand  you,  father." 

"  Nevertheless,  my  son,  I  shall  give  you  an  illustration  in 
point.  You  will,  of  course,  understand  it  in  the  candid  and 
affectionate  spirit  in  which  it  is  uttered.  When  you  entered 
college,  it  was  to  complete  your  studies  for  the  ministry : 
naturally  supposing  yourself  fully  qualified,  in  all  other  respects, 
for  that  sacred  calling.  While  at  college,  you  came  in  contact 
with  minds  at  least  as  pure,  and,  as  you  thought,  richer  in  prom 
ise  than  your  own.  These  pure  minds,  so  rich  in  promise, 
measured  the  competence  of  men  for  the  ministry  by  a  standard 
so  high  that  it  drove  you  to  a  conscientious  examination  of 
yourself.  That  examination  resulted  in  the  conviction  that 
your  qualifications  for  that  highest  of  all  human  offices  were 
far  below  the  prescribed  standard.  Sorrowfully,  therefore,  but 
bravely — for  it  requires  courage  to  comply  with  the  mandate 


24  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

* 

of  conscience  when  it  bids  us  give  up  a  long-cherished  object — 
you  relinquished  your  aspirations  for  the  ministry  as  a  profession 
to  which  you  had  not  been  called  by  your  Creator :  since,  had 
He  called  you,  He  would  have  endowed  you  with  qualifications 
which  would  enable  you  to  follow  it  with  benefit  to  Him 
and  honor  to  yourself.  This  conclusion  reached,  and  having, 
like  a  right-thinking  man,  no  disposition  to  waste  your  talents  in 
forbidden  idleness,  you  turned  your  thoughts — shall  I  say  at  the 
suggestion  of  another  mind  ?— in  the  direction  of  worldly  busi 
ness.  Business — which  to  the  sanguine  eye  of  inexperience,  is 
simply  a  mere  lake,  whose  opposite  banks,  glittering  with  gold, 
are  distinctly  visible  and  easily  reached ;  but  which  graver  ex 
perience  knows  to  be  a  deceptive,  seething  sea,  whose  stormy 
waters  wreck  daily  thousands  of  brave  meH,  and  hurl  them, 
broken,  beggared,  unpitying  and  unpitied,  on  brankruptcy's 
bleak,  inhospitable  shore.  I  make  not  these  remarks,  my  son, 
to  discourage  you — you  know  me  better — but  to  open  your 
eyes  to  the  real  character  of  that  world  which  you  are  about  to 
explore.  You  will  find  in  it  more  savages — worse,  civilized  ones ! 
— than  ever  greeted  the  eye  of  Columbus.  Creatures  with  all 
the  outward  semblances  of  men,  but  with  the  ravenous  appe 
tites  and  ferocious  natures  of  tigers — human  beasts  of  prey, 
who  live  by  running  down  and  devouring  the  vitals  of  credulous, 
unsuspecting  men." 

Samuel  looked  thoughtfully  in  the  fire. 

"  You  may  possibly  regard  the  picture  as  overdrawn,"  con 
tinued  the  clergyman,  quietly  observing  him,  "  but  time  will 
evolve  its  accuracy." 

"Are  there  then  no  good  men  there,  father?"  inquired  Samuel, 
looking  up. 

*'  Many,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  their  number  is  small,  and  them 
selves  so  scattered,  and  intermixed  with  the  great  mass,  that  it 
takes  time  to  find  them.  My  dear,"  turning  to  his  wife,  and 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  25 

calling  her  attention  to  little  Joe,  whose  head  was  bent  upon  his 
breast  in  gentle  slumber,  "  the  pipe  has  played  out  its  mournful 
song,  and  the  minstrel's  spirit  is  with  the  angels.  Mark  the 
smile  which  hovers  around  his  little  lips !" 

Mrs.  Lindsay  and  Aunt  Betsy  sprang  to  their  feet  at  the  same 
instant.  The  tender-hearted  mother  was,  however,  the  first  to 
reach  the  little  dreamer,  and  catching  him  up  in  her  arms,  and 
imprinting  a  fond  kiss  upon  his  pale  forehead,  she  bore  him  from 
the  room. 

It  was  now  nine  o'clock,  Aunt  Betsy's  usual  retiring  hour,  and 
deeming  it  a  good  excuse  for  leaving  father  and  son  to  a  private 
conference,  which,  her  heart  told  her,  they  both  desired,  she  bade 
them  good-night,  and  hurried  after  her  mistress. 

Her  departure  was  followed  by  a  short  silence,  which  was 
broken  by  the  pastor. 

"  My  son,"  he  began,  in  a  tone  which  penetrated  to  the  very 
core  of  his  hearer's  heart,  "  you  will  appreciate  the  feelings  of  a 
father  when  he  sees  his  first-born  going  out  for  the  first  time  to 
do  battle  with  the  world.  However  well  he  may  have  pre 
viously  prepared  him  for  the  conflict,  he  cannot  help  trembling 
for  the  result.  The  painful  dread  of  uncertainty  will  creep  in 
upon  him,  and  send  a  shudder  through  his  breast,  resist  it  as  he 
may.  He  experiences  then,  that  his  child's  hold  upon  his  heart 
is  stronger  than  he  thought,  and  that  the  boy  is  carrying  the 
dearest  part  of  it  away.  He  feels  that  his  Young  Hope  is  thence 
forth  a  stranger  among  strangers  ;  that  he  must  now  be  .his  own 
sole  friend  and  counsellor ;  that  he  is  treading  perilous  ground, 
where  a  single  false  step  is  followed  by  years  of  anxiety  and 
disaster;  that  it  is  youth  and  inexperience  against  a  subtle  horde, 
who  are  veterans  in  guile ;  that  he  is  now  in  a  field  whose  stormy 
din  proclaims  the  ferocity  of  the  conflict ;  where  every  man  is 
his  own  general  and  soldier,  fighting  his  own  individual  battle, 
little  heeding  and  little  caring  whom  he  maims  or  slays,  so  he 
& 


26  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

come  off  himself  with  a  victor's  bays,  and  more — a  victor's  spoil : 
in  a  word,  that  he  is,  with  his  youth  and  inexperience,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crafty,  merciless  throng,  whose  trade  is  pillage,  and  who 
will  destroy  him — if  they  can  !  What  wonder,  then,  if  the  sire's 
heart  be  shaken  in  that  solemn  parting  hour  ?" 

The  hand  of  the  father  fell  spontaneously  into  that  of  his  son 
as  he  concluded.  The  sympathizing  touch  was  electrical.  It 
opened  wide  the  door  of  human  nature's  cells,  and  the  sacred 
streams  darted  forth  like  gushing  lava,  and  mingled  into  one. 
Their  eyes  met,  and,  yielding  to  their  emotions,  they  bowed  their 
heads  upon  each  other's  necks  and  wept. 

A  long  silence  followed,  which  was  at  length  broken  by  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  Leland.  The  wife  and  mother  paused  a  moment 
to  contemplate  the  picture  before  her;  then  approaching  the 
sighing  pair,  she  put  an  arm  around  each,  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  clergyman  himself  was  the  first  to  recover  his  composure. 

Then,  giving  one  arm  to  his  wife,  and  the  other  to  his  son,  he 
said,  as  they  paced  up  and  down  the  apartment : 

"  Your  dear  mother  and  I,  Samuel,  have  to  thank  you  for 
nearly  five-and-twenty  years  of  parental  happiness.  We  thank 
you  for  the  comforting  stream  of  uninterrupted  joys  with  which 
you  have  filled  our  hearts,  from  your  earliest  infancy  until  now. 
We  thank  you  for  your  uniform  piety,  kindness,  and  affection  ; 
for  your  uprightness  in  all  things ;  for  the  love  which  you  have 
ever  borne  our  King  and  Prince,  your  parents,  your  companions, 
and  your  fellow-men ;  for  the  brightness  of  your  example  to  the 
mates  of  your  childhood,  your  youth,  and  your  young  manhood  ; 
and  for  the  genial  spirit  of  peace  and  good-will  to  man  which  you 
have  inculcated  among  your  little  friends  in  the  secular  and  Sab 
bath  schools.  We  thank  you  for  preserving  the  purity  and 
integrity  of  our  own  family  name.  And  we  thank  you,"  added 
the  pastor,  pausing,  and  placing  his  hands  over  the  young  man's 
head,  "  for  so  comporting  yourself  all  your  days  until  now,  that 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  27 

we  can  turn  our  eyes  to  Him,  and  say :  '  Lord  of  Righteousness, 
of  Goodness,  and  of  Love !  we  bless  Thee  for  this,  Thy  tender 
gift.  Ever  has  he  been  to  us,  Thy  servants,  a  thing  of  beauty 
and  of  joy  ;  never  has  he  brought  to  our  eye?,  a  te?,r — never  to 
our  hearts  a  pang  ! '  v 

He  paused,  and  trembling  with  emotion,  rc&'dt  a  familiar  sign. 
All  knelt  reverently  in  prayer. 

"  Lord  of  the  Heavenly  Kingdom,"  began  the  clergyman, 
"three  humble  suppliants,  who  have  heard  of  the  greatness  of 
Thy  heart,  who  have  faith  in  the  shelter  of  Thy  smile,  and  who 
would  share  in  the  riches  of  Thy  love,  come  to  Thee.  Of  the 
glory  of  Thy  name,  of  the  wondrousness  of  Thy  power,  of  the 
goodness  of  Thy  heart,  of  the  grandeur  of  Thy  Kingdom,  we 
have  heard,  and  believe.  Turn  Thine  eye  upon  us  ;  let  us  feel 
the  comfort  of  Thy  presence  ;  we  are  petitioners  for  Thy  grace. 

"  Lord !  the  home  of  Thy  servants  has  long  been  in  the  shadow 
of  Thy  love — we  give  Thee  the  praise. 

"  Our  hearts  have  tasted  of  the  sweetness  of  Thy  smile — we 
give  Thee  the  praise. 

"  We  have  found  peace  in  knowing  and  believing  that  Thy  ways 
are  pleasant  ways,  and  Thy  people  pleasant  people — we  give 
Thee  the  praise. 

"  Long  years  of  joy,  from  the  dawn  to  the  even,  have  been 
granted  us — we  give  Thee  the  praise. 

"  Thy  name,  and  that  of  Thy  Son,  our  Prince,  have  been  to  us 
like  the  light  of  the  morning — we  give  Thee  the  praise. 

"  Hearken  to  us,  O  Lord ! 

"  A  shadow  darkens  the  home  of  Thy  servants.  A  temporal 
grief  is  upon  us.  Give  us  strength  to  bear  them. 

4<  One  whom  we  love,  since  he  was  Thy  gift,  is  about  to  leave 
us :  give  us  strength  to  endure  it. 

"  He  goes  in  the  way  of  Pride,  of  Temptation :  give  him 
strength  to  resist  them. 


28  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  For  evil  will  be  about  him,  and  upon  him,  and  without  Thy 
smile  to  protect  Him,  and  Thine  arm  to  uphold  him,  he  will  fall. 

"  Stand  Thou  between  him  and  evil,  O  Lord ! 

"  Be  Thou  his  Sun  by  day,  his  Star  by  night. 

"  Should  it  be  Thy  pleasure  that  he  prosper,  or  Thy  pleasure 
that  he  fail,  we  shall  bow,  in  either  event,  meekly  to  Thy  will. 

"  But  whether  he  prosper  or  fail,  be  Thou,  O  Lord !  with  him 
a  perpetual  presence :  whether  prosperity  or  adversity,  let  him  not 
falter  for  a  moment  in  his  allegiance  to  Thee ! 

"  Should  it  be  Thy  will  to  try  his  devotion  with  the  tempta 
tions  of  success,  give  him  strength,  O  Lord !  to  bear  up  against 
them  ;  ennerve  him,  day  by  day,  that  his  heart  may  not  wander, 
a  moment,  from  Thee. 

"  If  it  be  Thy  pleasure  that  he  pass  through  the  valley  of  dis 
aster,  that  tribulation  be  the  only  reward  of  his  efforts,  and  that 
envy,  malice,  calamity  and  disappointment  assail  him  :  Be  Thou, 
O  Lord  !  with  him  in  his  hour  of  trouble  ;  let  the  light  of  Thine 
eye  be  upon  him  ;  preserve  the  purity  of  his  heart,  and  give  it 
courage  to  endure  bravely  and  loyally  to  the  end. 

"And  when,  at  last,  his  day  of  trial  shall  reach  the  shadow  of 
its  even,  when  his  spirit  shall  lay  down  to  await  the  coming 
of  Thy  messenger,  let  the  lamp  of  his  faith  shine  dazzlingly  a 
little  moment  in  honor  of  Thy  name. 

"And  when  his  work  shall  be  done,  take  him,  O  Lord !  to 
Thine  own  glorious  kingdom,  and  let  him  be  one  of  Thy  people 
evermore. 

"  Hearken  to  us,  O  Lord !" 

The  prayer  was  ended.   The  petitioners  bowed  their  heads  upon  ^ 
their  clasped  hands,  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  rose.     Their 
hearts  were  full,  but  not  with  sorrow.     Their  eyes  were  bright 
but  not  with  sadness.     They  greeted  each  other  with  a  genial 
smile. 

As  the  petition  approached  its  close,  the  petitioners  themselves 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  29 

experienced  a  sensation:  Their  perturbed  spirits  underwent  a 
gradual  change.  A  holy  calm  entered  and  tranquillized  their 
souls,  which  then  became  heated  with  a  gentle  glow,  and  then 
illumined  with  a  mild,  radiating  light. 

The  joy  of  the  petitioners  was  unspeakable  ;  for  they  knew 
that  the  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LORD  had  been  with  them  ! 


CHAPTER     III. 

NIGHT  glided  into  morning.  With  the  first  gray  streaks  of 
dawn,  the  inmates  of  the  parsonage  were  up  and  stirring.  Pa 
rents  and  son  greeted  each  other  joyfully  ;  for  the  memory  of  the 
Divine  Presence  was  still  in  their  minds,  with  all  its  inspiring 
freshness.  The  glad  tidings  were  revealed  to  the  worthy  house 
keeper,  whose  pious  heart  was  aroused  into  enthusiasm  at  the 
news.  From  that  moment  a  spirit  of  tranquil  happiness  took 
possession  of  the  household.  Little  Joe  himself  shared  in  the 
general  joy,  and  his  pipe  rang  through  the  parsonage  in  strains 
as  lively  and  ^invigorating  as  a  lark's. 

Aunt  Betsy  declared  that  "  the  child  must  have  bin  communin 
with  naters  as  innocent  as  his  own,  or  else  he  could  never  have 
woke  up  in  such  •  good  spirits — perticklerly  when  he  had  spent 
such  a  miserable  evenin' !" 

Whatever  was  the  cause,  Joe's  pipe  warbled  merrily  all  the 
morning :  so  merrily,  indeed,  as  to  bring  Rover,  the  guardian 
of  the  village  store,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  over,  who 


30  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

put  his  head  in  at  the  kitchen  door  and  looked  up  in  the  little 
minstrel's  face,  as  if  desiring  to  know  what  it  all  meant.  The 
morning  meal  passed  over  cheerfully ;  and  at  its  conclusion, 
everything  was  got  in  readiness  for  Samuel's  departure.  His 
well- filled  trunk  was  brought  down  ;  the  lock  examined  and  the 
straps  drawn  an  inch  tighter  than  before,  and  the  trunk  itself 
then  placed  beside  the  garden  gate.  Samuel  drew  on  his  over 
coat,  an  example  that  was  followed  by  his  father,  for  the  morn 
ing  was  fresh  enough  to  render  an  extra  garment  exceedingly 
welcome  to  those  who  contemplated  a  moderate  drive.  Mrs. 
Leland  put  on  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  taking  little  Joe,  who 
was  also  dressed  for  a  journey,  by  the  hand,  she  quietly  sat  down, 
with  the  others,  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  vehicle  which  was  to 
convey  them  to  the  next  village,  where  Samuel  was  to  take  the 
cars. 

As  the  kitchen  clock  struck  seven,  there  was  a  rattling  of 
wrheels,  and  immediately  after  a  double-seated  spring  wagon, 
driven  by  one  of  Samuel's  former  scholars,  drew  up  at  the  gate. 
The  lad— a  fine,  bright,  ruddy  fellow  of  seventeen  or  eighteen 
years — was  dressed  as  for  a  holiday.  He  sprang  from  the  wagon, 
and  was  passing  through  the  gate,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
trunk.  He  lifted  it  without  ceremony  into  the  vehicle,  and  then 
passed  to  the  door  of  the  parsonage,  where  he  found  his  late 
teacher  quietly  awaiting  him. 

"  Good- morning,  Samuel!"  cried  the  lad,  greeting  him  with 
a  hearty  air  of  mingled  affection  and  respect.  "  I  see  I'm  not 
too  early  for  you.  Folks  all  ready  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  Charles — thank  you.  All  ready.  You  are  not 
a  whit  too  early,  nor  too  late  either.  Have  you  breakfasted  ?" 

"Oh,  yes:  an  hour  ago.  I  might  have  been  here  before. 
But  as  seven  was  the  appointed  hour,  I  thought  it  would  not 
please  you  so  well ;  as  you  always  told  me  that  punctuality,  to 
the  letter,  was  ever  to  be  remembered." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  31 

"  Right,  Charles — right.  Never  lose  sight  of  that !  Come  in, 
my  friend — come  in  !" 

After  a  few  minutes  of  courteous  interchange,  the  parties  left 
the  parsonage  to  take  their  places  in  the  wagon.  As  they  reached 
the  open  air,  they  beheld  a  number  of  friends  and  neighbors 
outside  the  gate,  some  waiting  to  take  a  parting  look,  and  others 
a  parting  grasp  of  the  hand  of  their  young  friend. 

This,  however,  occasioned  but  little  delay,  for  all  were  aware 
of  the  importance  of  time,  and  Samuel  followed  his  relatives  into 
the  vehicle.  Upon  taking  his  seat,  he  raised  his  hat  to  his 
friends,  who  returned  the  salutation  with  a  hearty  cheer,  and  then 
settled  himself  between  his  father  and  Charles,  on  the  front  seat, 
the  ladies  and  little  Joe  occupying  the  back. 

As  the  wagon  swept  down  the  road,  the  field-workers  and  in 
habitants  of  the  cottages  approached  the  fences  and  waved  friendly 
adieux  to  the  general  favorite  as  he  passed  by,  while  many  wished 
him  a  pleasant  journey  and  a  prosperous  career  in  tones  as  loud 
as  they  were  hearty. 

Samuel  was  touched  by  these  evidences  of  affection  and  esteem, 
and  was  frequently  forced  to  return  them  with  silent  gestures  of 
farewell,  as  his  feelings  were  too  agitated  to  allow  him  to  answer 
them  in  words. 

It  was  a  sunny,  bracing  morning.  The  air  was  pure  and 
bright — a  little  keen,  it  might  be,  but  not  too  much  so  for  young, 
vigorous  blood  like  that  of  our  hero.  With  his  parents  and 
Aunt  Betsy,  however,  the  case  was  different,  and  they  were 
not  sorry  to  see  their  young  friend  Charles  whip  his  pair  of  grays 
into  a  lively,  stirring  trot. 

But  few  words  were  exchanged  on  the  journey — the  feelings 
of  each  being  too  deep  for  utterance. 

The  parents  cast  frequent  glances  at  their  son,  but  consider 
ately  forbore  to  add  to  the  disturbance  which  the  circumstances 


32  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

of  his  situation  naturally  produced  in  his  sensitive  and  tenderly 
cultivated  mind. 

They  were  now  within  a  mile  of  the  next  village ;  but,  thus 
far,  with  the  exception  of  Charles,  Samuel  had  not  seen  a 
single  face  of  his  many  little  friends.  He  strained  his  eyes  from 
one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  in  hope  that  at  least  one  of 
them  would  appear  and  wish  him  a  kind  word,  but  in  vain. 
The  heart  of  the  young  man  was  grieved;  for  he  had  long 
fancied  that  his  own  respect  and  'affectionate  solicitude  for  his 
scholars  were  spontaneously  reciprocated.  But  now  that  he  was 
leaving  home,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  not  one  of  them 
appeared  to  bid  him  a  cordial  good-bye — not  one  !  An  expres 
sion  of  sadness  passed  over  Samuel's  features  at  the  thought, 
while  a  tell-tale  moisture  at  the  eyes,  of  which  he  was  wholly 
unconscious,  told  the  watchful  orbs  of  his  companions  that  he  was 
suffering  in  heart.  Still  no  one  ventured  to  remark  audibly  upon 
the  subject,  feeling  instinctively  that  such  a  course  would  be  both 
indelicate  and  impolitic. 

A  few  minutes  brought  the  party  to  a  bend  in  the  road,  lead 
ing  to  the  next  village.  As  they  approached  the  turning-point, 
Charles  glanced  archly  both  at  the  pastor  and  the  ladies,  who, 
however,  as  their  looks  gave  him  to  understand,  had  not  the 
slightest  comprehension  of  his  meaning,  while  they  at  the  same 
time  desired  an  explanation.  The  lad  answered  them  with  a 
shrewd,  quiet  grin,  which  was  as  little  understood  as  the  smile, 
and  they  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  had  no  help  for  it  but  to 
wait  patiently  uatil  either  Charles  himself  or  the  cause  of  his 
singular  behavior  should  furnish  them  with  a  key  to  his  mystery. 

Meanwhile  they  were  rapidly  approaching  the  angle  of  the 
lower  road,  into  which  they  turned  a  few  moments  later,  when 
the  two  church  spires  and  the  scattered  cottages  of  the  adjoining 
village  loomed  up  pleasantly  before  them. 

As  they  drew  nearer,  all  eyes  were  attracted  to  a  gathering 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  33 

near  the  railroad  depot,  which  was  situated  on  the  main  road,  or 
rather  street,  as  it  was  more  generally  termed,  and  then  the 
parties  in  the  wagon  began,  as  they  conceived,  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  their  young  friend's  meaning.  Ere  long  they  were  confirmed 
in  the  correctness  of  their  conjecture. 

Charles,  who  was  all  excitement,  whipped  up  the  grays,  and 
springing  to  his  feet,  exclaimed,  while  he  waved  his  cap, 

"  Hurrah,  boys  !     Here  he  is  !" 

A  loud  shout  from  the  throng  around  the  depot  responded  to 
his  cry,  and  a  single  glance  in  that  direction  told  Samuel  that  he 
was  not  forgotten  by  his  little  friends,  who,  headed  by  their  new 
teacher,  and  attended  by  many  of  their  parents,  were  drawn  up 
in  a  body  at  the  depot  to  bid  him  a  tender  adieu. 

Touched  by  this  unexpected  evidence  of  his  old  pupils'  affec 
tion,  and  sensible  of  the  injustice  which  he  had  done  them  in 
his  thoughts,  a  gush  of  hot  tears  rushed  like  a  flash  of  fire  to  the 
young  man's  eyes.  He  trembled,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  a 
whisper  from  his  father  of  "Be  firm,  my  son — be  a  man !"  reen- 
nerved  and  restored  him  to  a  full  sense  of  hi^  situation. 

Dashing  the  tears  hastily  aside,  he  raised  his  hat  and  returned 
the  greeting  of  his  little  friends  with  a  low,  grateful  bow.  The 
latter  comprehended  intuitively  the  state  of  his  feelings,  and 
endeavored  to  reassure  him  by  three  prolonged,  spirit-stirring 
cheers. 

Samuel,  however,  was  not  one  to  enjoy  an  ovation,  nor  any 
thing  else  which  would  have  the  effect  of  making  him  an  object 
of  general  attention,  and  he  heard  with  unmixed  pleasure  the 
ringing  of  a  locomotive  bell  which  announced  the"  rapid  approach 
of  the  train. 

Charles,  however,  was  perfectly  merciless.  He  drove  forward 
rapidly  and  drew  up  beside  the  depot,  exclaiming,  as  he  halted, 

"Here  he  is,  boys.  Three  cheers  for  him  now,  and  with  a 
will !" 

1* 


M  WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

And  they  were  given,  Charles  himself  setting  the  example,  and 
joining  in  the  roar  with  a  lustiness  which  was  distinguishable 
from  all  the  rest. 

"  Now,  then,"  added  the  youngster,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
knew  perfectly  well  that  he  but  uttered  the  sentiments  of  all 
around  him,  and  meant  to  have  them  complied  with,  "  now,  then, 
Samuel,  we  want  a  speech.  Come,  no  backing  out.  Are  we  not 
your  own  boys — are  you  not  our  Samuel  1" 

Samuel  was  agitated  to  a  degree.  He  blushed,  trembled, 
and  could  hardly  stand.  He  wished  himself  away ;  shook, 
turned  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and  then  wished  himself  away 
again  :  and  yet  he  felt  that  he  was  wrong,  that  his  little  friends 
were  right,  and  that  they  were  yearning  to  hear  a  last  word  from 
one  whom  they  loved ;  that  they  looked  for  it,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  they  would  be  disappointed  very  much  if  they  should 
not  hear  it,  and  that  under  the  circumstances  they  were  justly 
entitled  to  it.  He  felt  also  that  he  desired  himself  to  speak  to 
them  ;  that  his  heart  would  be  the  better  for  it,  even  if  he  only 
gave  utterance  to  a  single  word.  But  yet  he  could  not,  so  he 
thought,  speak  that  one  word,  if  his  life  depended  upon  the  effort. 

He  glanced  reprovingly  at  Charles  for  placing  him  so  rudely, 
as  it  were,  in  a  situation  of  so  much  embarrassment,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  it  was  dictated  by  a  generous  motive,  and  that  there  was 
not  one  in  all  the  throng  who  loved  him  deeper,  nor  one  more 
anxious  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  determined  to  make  at  least  an  effort. 

Charles  glanced  at  him,  and  detecting  his  weakness,  cried  out, 
for  the  purpose  of  securing  him  a  moment  to  call  up  his 
courage — 

"  Now,  boys,  we  are  going  to  have  it.  But  first  let's  clear  the 
air  for  him  with  an  honest  ring  !" 

The  "  ring"  that  followed  was  "  honest"  enough  to  satisfy  even 
Charles  himself,  who  was  at  length  compelled  to  bring  it,  with  a 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  35 

wave  of  his  hand,  to  a  close,  in  order  to  give  Samuel  an  oppor 
tunity  to  be  in  time  for  the  train,  which  was  now  within  forty- 
yards  of  the  depot. 

A  deep  silence  followed  Charles's  gesture,  and  Samuel  deter 
mined  to  make  an  effort.  His  first  attempt  was  a  failure ;  his  lips 
appeared  to  be  glued  together,  and  it  seemed  impossible  for  him 
to  part  them.  Better  success  followed  his  second  attempt,  which 
was  sustained  by  a  violent  action  of  his  will. 

"  My  little  friends,"  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  your  kind 
presence  here  to  bid  your  old  teacher  good-bye  has  taken  me 
by  surprise.  I  did  not  expect  it,  but  I  am  grateful — very  grate 
ful — to  meet  you.  I  am  about  to  leave  you,  but  whether  for 
ever,  or  only  for  a  season,  I  do  not  know ;  I  would  tell  you 
which,  if  I  could.  If  you  would  make  me  happy  while  away, 
write  me  as  often  as  you  can  ;  and  always  let  me  hear  that  you 
are  good,  that  your  new  teacher  loves  you,  that  your  friends 
love  you,  that  you  love  your  Heavenly  King  and  Prince,  and 
that  you  hope  they  love  you  in  return.  Should  we  not  be  per 
mitted  to  see  one  another  again  here,  let  me  hope  that  we  shall 
meet  There.  I  would  say  more ;  I  should  be  happy  to  take  you 
all,  separately,  by  the  hand,  and  tell  you  how  happy  each  and 
all  of  you  have  made  me  in  our  day  and  Sabbath  schools — but 
there  is  not  time.  The  train  is  here,  and  I  must  go.  Dear 
friends,  I  love  to  look  upon  your  faces,  but  I  may  not  stay.  I 
love  to  listen  to  your  dear  voices,  but  I  cannot  now.  There 
fore,  I  must  say  to  you,  one  and  all,  love  me,  for  I  love  you ; 
remember  me,  for  I  shall  remember  you.  Farewell,  dear 
friends — farewell !" 

There  was  no  shouting  now.  They  would  have  cheered  him, 
if  they  could — but  voices  they  had  none.  They  raised  their 
hands,  they  waved  their  caps,  but  not  a  sound  went  up,  save  a 
deep,  heart-breaking  sob. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

THE  train  swept  on,  with  its  living  freight;  dropping  here, 
taking  up  there,  and  then  sweeping  on  again,  like  a  wild,  fear 
ful  thing,  that  had  a  thousand  miles  to  travel,  and  with  but  a 
breath  to  do  it  in, — through  the  bowels  of  the  hills,  high  over 
the  valleys,  across  wildly  rushing  streams,  through  the  houses  of 
cities,  grazing  barns  and  churches,  over  trembling  bridges  and 
dykes,  through  mountains  of  rock,  across  marshes  and  plains — 
roaring  madly  all  the  way.  Halting  suddenly — strange  men 
and  women  gliding  in,  strange  men  and  women  gliding  out,  and 
then  sweeping  on  once  more — with  now  and  then  a  screech  like 
that  of  the  tempest  in  a  rage.  Then  a  ringing  of  a  bell ;  then 
a  stoppage — strange  men  and  women  hurrying  in,  strange  men 
and  women  hurrying  out ;  then  a  shock — then  a  start,  and  then 
a  long,  unbroken  roar,  as  before. 

Samuel  was  on  his  way  to  the  city. 

Beside  him,  looking  now  through  the  small  window-pane 
near  him,  anon  at  the  faces  in  the  closely  packed  car,  and 
glancing  occasionally  down  at  a  soiled,  crumpled  morning  paper, 
which  lay  open  on  his  knees,  sat  a  tall,  gaunt,  broad-shouldered 
personage,  habited  in  a  suit  of  black,  the  fineness  of  whose  nap, 
and  the  mingled  neatness  and  symmetry  of  whose  cut,  stamped 
their  owner  as  a  man  of  taste,  as  well  as  one  of  means. 

The  countenance  of  this  gentleman  was  significant  and  im 
pressive.  A  high,  full,  massive  forehead,  indicated  it  as  the 
temple  of  a  bold  and  fruitful  mind.  The  arched,  protruding 
brows  told  of  keenly  observant  faculties,  which  caught  meanings 

at  a  glance  ;  the  eyes  were  large,  clear,  and  apparently  measure- 
is) 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  37 

less  in  depth ;  the  nose  darted  in  a  long,  straight  line  from  the 
brows,  its  base  marked  on  either  side  by  a  nostril  whose  bold 
but  delicately  chiselled  curve  was  significant  of  a  high  spirit, 
which  it  might  be  dangerous  to  arouse  ;  the  upper  lip  was  small, 
but  it  spoke  of  a  calm,  stern  will,  which  would  not  be  easily 
shaken  in  its  resolves  ;  its  lower  neighbor  was  larger  and  fuller, 
and  softened  the  bold  and  somewhat  cynical  expression  of  its 
mate ;  the  chin  was  bold,  but  so  softly  rounded  as  to  deprive 
it  of  every  vestige  of  harshness.  The  color  of  the  skin  was  of 
that  peculiar  paleness  which  is  native  to  consumptives  with 
black,  glossy  hair,  although  the  general  aspect  of  the  personage 
was  that  of  one  in  sound,  if  not  robust  health.  The  tone  of  his 
face  was  on  the  whole  pleasant,  and  would  have  been  absolutely 
winning,  were  it  not  for  a  sarcastic  shadow  which  hovered  around 
the  lips.  Despite  of  this  deformity,  however,  which  disappeared 
when  its  owner  spoke,  the  general  air  of  the  stranger  was  well 
calculated  to  impress  a  looker-on  favorably,  while  it  could  not 
fail  to  command  his  respect.  He  was  evidently  one  who  both 
mingled  with  and  understood  the  world,  and  knew  how  to  work 
his  way  through  it,  with  the  shrewdest  and  bravest. 

He  paid  but  little  attention  to  our  hero  at  first ;  but  in  the 
course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  moved  around  in  his  seat, 
and  placing  his  back  to  the  side  of  the  car,  he  rested  his  head 
in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  and  fixed  his  keen,  penetrating  eye 
upon  the  young  man's  profile,  studying  feature  after  feature, 
until  he  had  taken  a  complete  inventory  of  his  nature. 

"  An  honest,  earnest,  simple-minded  youth !"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  as  he  completed  his  quiet  and  unnoticed  survey. 
"I'll  sound  him."  Then  slightly  changing  his  position,  so  as 
to  attract  the  young  man's  notice,  he  said :  "  A  pleasant  day, 
neighbor !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Samuel,  turning  a  little  in  his  seat,  so  as 


38  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

to  obtain  a  view  of  his  companion's  features,  "  for  riding  in  a 
comfortable  car,  or  a  climbing  jaunt  among  the  hills  !" 

"  Is  there  much  pleasure  in  the  latter  ?"  inquired  the  other, 
with  a  quiet  smile  which  was  full  of  manly  sweetness,  and  which 
revealed  two  rows  of  small  glittering  pearls. 

"Yes,  sir,  when  the  heart  and  blood  are  young." 

"  Ah  !"  observed  the  stranger.  "  But  if  the  heart  and  blood 
be  old  ?" 

"In  that  case,  sir,  they  would,  I  fancy,  prefer  not  to  climb 
at  all." 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  stranger,  "  that  rule  would  hardly  be 
received  in  the  world.  There,  the  old  are  in  most  instances  the 
best  climbers." 

"  But  not  of  country  hills  ?" 

"Granted.  But  of  hills  far  more  difficult  to  master,  and 
whose  summits  are  rarely  touched  by  the  young." 

"  Human  honors  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  had  thought  them  hardly  worth  the  seeking,  sir,"  said 
Samuel  diffidently,  "  and  still  less  by  gray  hairs.  Give  me  one 
of  nature's  green  hills  to  mount  before  all  the  other  hills  in 
the  world  !" 

"  So  young  and  yet  so  wise  !"  thought  the  stranger.  "  He 
has  the  ring  of  the  pure  metal ;  come,  we'll  try  again.  It  will 
never  do  to  confess  defeat  to  a  simple  heart  like  this !"  Then 
he  said,  in  a  tone  which  was  tinctured  slightly  with  a  sneer, 
"  We  are  sometimes  governed  in  our  choice  by  the  conscious 
ness  of  inability,  and  therefore  prefer  doing  those  things  which 
are  within  our  compass." 

Samuel  reddened  at  the  sarcasm,  but  did  not  permit  him 
self  to  venture  a  reply  until  he  had  recovered  his  previous 
equanimity. 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  39 

"That,  I  judge,  sir,"  he  then  said,  "would  be  the  most  com 
mendable  course  in  all  cases." 

"The  most  prudent,  no  doubt!" 

"Surely  prudence  is  deserving  of  respect1?" 

"  That,"  returned  the  stranger,  with  a  perceptible  sneer,  which, 
however,  as  the  reader  will  readily  comprehend,  was  entirely  as 
sumed,  "  would  depend  altogether  upon  circumstances,  and  upon 
the  man.  For  instance,  two  soldiers,  while  returning  to  camp,  find 
themselves  attacked  by  a  number  double  that  of  their  own;  in  this 
situation  one  regards  it  as  most  prudent  to  run,  while  the  other, 
being  made  of  different  stuff,  unhesitatingly  shows  fight.  The 
first  loses  his  honor,  while  the  second — "  He  paused. 

"  Loses  his  head !"  said  Samuel,  naively  finishing  the  sentence. 

«  Would  that  naturally  follow  ?" 

"  I  think  so,  if  the  four  had  their  wits  about  them,"  answered 
Samuel,  with  a  simplicity  of  which  he  was  himself  unconscious. 

"  But  the  '  prudent '  man — "  suggested  the  other,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  drawing  him  out. 

"  Would  be  in  a  condition  to  return  with  a  force  large 
enough  to  capture  the  assailants  without  shedding  a  single  drop 
of  blood  !"  returned  Samuel.  ,.-.4  ;- 

"  But  his  desertion  of  his  comrade,  independent  of  its  base 
ness,  has  resulted  in  the  latter's  destruction." 

"  By  remaining  he  might  have  met  his  own !  Besides,  there  is 
no  certainty  that  both  would  not  have  been  slain.  Had  the 
second  followed  the  same  prudent  course,  the  one  would  have 
preserved  his  honor,  the  other  his  life.  True  courage  does  not 
consist  in  foolhardiness,  nor  real  wisdom  in  attempting  impos 
sibilities.  As  for  myself,"  he  added,  modestly,  "  I  should  hesi 
tate  to  undertake  a  task  which  my  judgment  whispered  to  be 
beyond  my  capacity." 

"  'Know  thyself,'  is  an  honest  maxim,"  said  the  stranger,  "  but 


40  WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

one  which  few  remember.  You,  however,"  he  added,  dryly, 
"  appear  to  have  studied  it  with  care !" 

"I  might  retort,"  said  Samuel,  with  quiet  firmness,  "that  to 
never  forget  one's  self  is  equally  as  honest !" 

"  Good !  I  like  the  fellow's  spirit.  It  is  as  refreshing  as  his 
wit!"  thought  the  stranger.  "  Men,"  he  said  aloud,  "are  some 
times  tempted  to  utter  as  well  as  do  things  which  they  afterwards 
regret." 

"  Surely  they  are  not  persons  to  imitate,  sir !  We  owe  more 
to  our  self-respect  than  to  our  blood !  Regret  palliates,  but  it 
does  not  atone  for  a  fault.  A  man,  in  the  heat  of  temper, 
strikes  his  friend — maims  him,  perhaps,  but  his  sorrow  for  the 
act,  while  it  may  alleviate  the  anguish,  does  not  do  away  with 
the  effects  of  the  blow.  They  are  visible  in  the  wound  itself, 
which,  when  healed,  still  leaves  a — scar !  Worse — in  the  breast  of 
him  who  gave  it,  lives  the  memory  of  an  hour  when  he  relin 
quished  his  self-respect  and  his  claims  to  the  character  of  a 
thinking  being,  to  the  brutal  hands  of  his  riotous  blood.  How 
much  nobler  to  have  sustained  his  moral  manhood  in  that  trying 
hour,  than  to  sacrifice  it  on  so  low  an  altar !" 

The  stranger  could  not  help  admiring  the  moral  grandeur  of 
this  sentiment,  but  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  of  the  world 
to  permit  his  real  thoughts  to  be  mirrored  by  his  features; 
and  as  his  proud  spirit  revolted  at  even  the  shadow  of  defeat,  he 
replied,  in  a  tone  tinged  with  a  certain  degree  of  irony — 

"  You  think,  then,  sir,  that  a  man  should  pass  over  the  grave 
results  of  his  rashness  without  so  much  as  a  regret  ?" 

"  No,  sir.     I  would  have  him  avoid  them  altogether !" 

"  But  if  he  be  hot-blooded  ?" 

"Does  it  follow  that  he  should  be  hot-minded  as  well? 
Children  are  sometimes  the  creatures  of  impulse ;  but  something 
better  is  looked  for  in  full-grown  men.  Brutes  are  the  subjects 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  41 

of  instinct;    man,  cast  in  a  higher  and  more  glorious   mould, 
the  subject  of  reason." 

"  Not  always,"  returned  the  man  of  the  world,  dryly.  "  He 
is  more  frequently  the  fettered  vassal  of  society  and  its  absurd 
conventionalisms.  Society  says  to  him,  '  Do  as  we  do,  think  as 
we  do,  comport  yourself  as  we  comport  ourselves;'  and  he 
meekly,  or  rather  servilely,  obeys.  A  '  reasoning  behig  !'  Why, 
sir,  he  is  the  bondsman  of  his  tailor,  of  his  hatter,  his  newspaper, 
his  minister,  his  party,  his  '  set.'  His  opinions  are  made  by  the 
circle  that  he  moves  in,  and  he  clings  to  them  according  as  they 
humor  his  own  peculiar  whims,  which  he  innocently  flatters  himself 
are  genuine  THOUGHTS,  and  as  they  subserve  his  various  ignoble 
interests.  A  *  reasoning'  being !  He  reasons  as  his  '  position'  lets 
him,  and  not  like  a  free,  unbiased  mind.  If  he  be  a  sordid,  grasp 
ing  money-getter,  he  reasons  as  the  love  of  money  will  permit 
him  ;  if  a  fashion-follower,  as  fashion  will  allow  him ;  if  a  draw 
ing-room  hanger-on,  as  the  drawing-room  dictates ;  if  a  partisan, 
as  his  leaders  prescribe ;  if  a  soldier,  as  the  department  orders ; 
if  in  any  one  rank  of  society,  according  to  the  usages  of  that  rank. 
A  '  reasoning  being,'  indeed !  Let  him  but  dare  to  show  himself 
a  being  of  that  exalted  order,  and  society  will  ostracise  him  as  if  he 
were  a  felon ;  it  will  shower  upon  him  anathemas  as  numerous 
and  ludicrous  as  those  fulminated  by  the  impious  simpleton  of  St. 
Peter's  chair  himself;  nay,  every  man,  woman,  and  child  will 
rise  up  in  virtuous  indignation  and  hunt  him  like  a  wild  beast — 
happily  for  the  poor  daring  wretch,  if  they  do  not  run  him 
down !  True,  now  and  then,  a  brave  spirit  rises,  who  sunders 
and  throws  to  the  winds  the  fetters  that  had  been  imposed  upon 
his  youth,  and,  strong  in  the  consciousness  of  his  genius  and 
his  bold,  energetic  will,  startles  the  world  with  the  grandeur,  the 
brightness,  and  the  dignity  of  his  great  manhood.  His  mighty 
mind  detects  and  laughs  to  scorn  the  paltry  fallacies  which  hold 
society  together;  he  sifts,  riddles,  and  holds  them  up  to  the 


4:2  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

ridicule  of  mankind — and  then  dares  the  combined  efforts  of 
society  to  do  their  worst,  and  to  move  him  if  they  can.  Society 
surveys  him  first  with  astonishment,  then  with  doubt,  then  fear — 
for  in  him  it  has  found  its  Master.  The  conflict  is  brief,  for 
where  is  the  modern  David  that  will  grapple  with  a  giant '? 
Prom  that  moment  society  quietly  yields  to  this  Intelligence, 
whose  power  is  greater  than  its  own ;  it  caresses  him,  flatters 
him,  calls  him  sweet  names;  terms  him  'queer,'  'original,' 
'  sagacious,'  '  bold,' — quietly  biding  its  time  in  the  meanwhile,  for 
a  faltering,  careless,  or  unguarded  moment,  when  it  can  turn,  like 
an  avenging  wolf,  upon  the  poor  wretch,  rend  him,  and  slake  its 
wild  thirst  in  the  blood  of  his  downfall !  And  yet  you  are  pleased 
to  call  this  monster,  Man,  a  '  reasoning'  being !  Lord  help  us  !" 

"  Lord  help  us,  indeed  !"  answered  Samuel,  "  when  a  lofty 
Intelligence  like  yours,  sir,  can  find  food  for  laughter,  for  mockery 
at  so  sad  a  picture  of  humanity  as  that  which  you  have  drawn ! 
Ah!  friend, — may  I  not  call  you  so1? — that  is  not  kind,  not  gen 
erous,  not  noble !  There  is  a  higher  summit  in  the  human  mind 
than  Sarcasm — Magnanimity  !  The  .pipe  whose  songs  are  all  of 
bitterness  dreams  not  of  the  joys  of  the  harp  whose  strings  are 
touched  by  angels'  fingers !  Humanity,  be  it  in  rags  or  satin, 
whether  on  the  side  of  truth  or  on  that  of  error,  whether  noble 
or  ignoble,  is  still  our  brother.  If  he  be  cast  down,  what  a  joy 
to  raise  him ;  if  ill,  what  a  joy  to  nourish  him ;  if  struggling  in 
the  waters  of  want,  sorrow,  calamity,  or  of  error — what  a  pleasure 
to  rescue  him  !  Say  we  should  see  a  brother  who  is  crazed  in 
mind,  standing  unconsciously  upon  the  brink  of  a  precipice ;  we 
would  not  laugh  in  mockery  at  his  peril,  but  lead  him  gently 
back  to  safety,  soothing  him  the  while !" 

The  man  of  the  world  shook  his  head. 

"All  very  fine  to  talk  of,"  he  said,  "but  not  to  practise. 
Angel  hearts  are  not  often  found  among  men,  nor  among  women 
either.  They  prefer  breasts  of  a  sterner  mould,  and  spare  no 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  43 

efforts  to  render  their  own  as  hard  as  possible — and  hard  enough 
they  make  them  !  The  market,  sir,  governs  everything;  and  that  is 
governed  by  the  broad  universal  law  of  supply  and  demand.  Now 
the  demand  is  unlimited  the  world  over  for  that  which  will  freeze 
the  human  heart  and  make  it  colder,  harder,  and  more  capable 
of  resisting  the  appeals  of  Pity,  Sorrow,  Suffering,  and  Benevo 
lence,  than  it  is  already ;  and  the  supply,  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  is  far  behind  the  demand  !  But  there  is  no  demand  for 
angel  voices,  nor  angel  fingers !  The  harpist  that  would  melt 
their  icy  natures  would  be  smiled  at  for  his  simplicity ;  if  he 
persisted,  they  would  drive  him  off  with  ridicule." 

"  Surely  men  love  not  to  be  thought  cruel !" 

"  Oh,  no — not  to  be  thought  cruel !  They  would  be  regarded  as 
mild,  amiable,  benevolent,  magnanimous — because  such  a  repu 
tation  pays!  And  therefore,  as  such  a  name  can  only  be  obtained 
at  a  cost  which  they  feel  by  no  means  inclined  to  pay,  they  unite 
in  constructing  a  general  pleasing  deception,  which  answers  their 
purpose  equally  as  well  as  the  original !  Under  the  influence  of 
this  pleasing  deception,  they  get  along  very  happily.  They  have 
a  substantial  respect  for  everything  that  will  pay — a  superficial 
sympathy,  like  the  thin  coating  of  an  ice,  for  things  that  don't 
pay.  Thus,  while  each  professes  a  tender  interest  in  honesty, 
they  will  let  honesty  itself  starve,  rot,  die,  ere  they  will  help  it. 
True,  they  will  give  it  advice — liberally,  but  not  a  doit,  not  a 
sixpence  to  save  it  from  starvation.  Honesty  ?  Oh,  yes — they 
love  it — at  arms'  length  !  They  will  follow  it  the  world  over — 
seemingly !  Hear  them  talk,  and  pure  honesty  itself  is  an  arrant, 
transparent  rogue  to  them !  They  will  not  openly  rob.  Oh, 
no — that  would  send  them  to  prison.  But  they  will  lie — in  a 
negative  way  ;  they  will  cheat — little  by  little — step  by  step — 
until  their  pockets  groan  with  superabundance.  Short  measure 
helps  a  little — adulteration  helps  a  little — a  gentle  admixture  ol 
falsehood  with  tr-  jh  helps  a  little — soft,  unvarnished,  but  excusa- 


44  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

ble  conventional  lies  help  a  little — all  snugly  glossed  over  by  a 
thin  gauze  of  It  pays !  till  each  is  a  little  Croesus  in  wealth, 
respectability,  morality,  and — honesty  !  They  honor  virtue  ? 
Yes,  sir  !  From  instinct,  sir — from  very  love  of  it,  sir — from  ad 
miration  of  it,  sir  !  Virtue,  sir  ?  Virtue  is  a  flower — the  fairest  that 
ever  bloomed  in  the  garden  of  the  soul,  sir.  Why,  sir,  there  was 
my  mother,  my  sister— the  very  embodiments  of  virtue,  sir.  They 
are  gone  now — they  lie  in  Greenwood  ;  the  green  turf  over  them, 
and — a  tombstone  that  cost  a  thousand  dollars — I  can  show  you 
the  bill,  sir !  By-and-bye,  Virtue  comes  along ;  her  rags  faintly 
shield  her  gentle  form  from  the  cutting  blast ;  gaunt  want  is  in 
her  eye,  hot  famine  in  her  cheeks ;  her  step  is  feeble,  her  voice 
low  and  timid ;  while  from  the  arches  of  her  eyes,  lustrous 
with  suffering,  hunger  has  pinched  a  tear.  'A  shilling,  sir — 
please — I  am  sore  beset ;  want  is  biting  at  my  vitals ;  the  cold 
is  cutting  to  my  bones ;  my  shoe  is  wearing  at  the  toe,  it  is 
worn  already  at  the  heel.  I'm  staggering  towards  the  church 
yard,  with  none  to  save  me  in  the  fall.  A  shilling,  sir — please'. 
Oh,  good  woman,  go  to  the  alms-house — do.  *  They  are  all  full, 
there.'  Go  to  work,  then.  '  I  am  too  ill,  too  far  gone,  I'm 
ragged,  there  is  no  work  to  do.'  The  times  are  hard,  certainly  ; 
but  do  run  along — you  annoy  me — it's  astonishing  how  full  of 
professional  beggars  the  world  is — an  honest  man  can't  pass 
twenty  rods  without  encountering  the  trumpery  things  at  every 
step — it's  really  too  bad — he'll  petition  at  once  to  have  the 
wretches  kept  out  of  the  streets,  and  have  them  kept  out,  he  will, 
or  know  the  reason  why  !  Honor  virtue,  sir — certainly  !  What 
a  ridiculous  question,  sir  !  Do  they  honor  Religion,  too  ?  Oh, 
yes.  '  They  have  found,  they  still  find,  and  they  hope  they  shall 
continue  to  find,  unspeakable  consolation  in  its  sacred  fount. 
Yes,  they  have  experienced  its  solemn  joys;  they  have  a 
grateful  knowledge,  an  abiding  sense  of  gratitude  for  Him 
who  died  that  they  might  live;  they  adore  his  holy  name, 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  45 

and  hope  to  sing  praises  to  him  in  a  blessed  immortality. 
They  are  conscious  that  but  for  religion  society  would  have  fallen 
to  pieces  long  ago ;  that  it  is  at  once  the  corner-stone  of  society 
and  the  State ;  that  without  its  sanctifying  influences,  public  and 
private  morality  would  disappear,  education  vanish,  business 
shiver  into  atoms,  property  crumble  into  dust,  the  bonds  which 
rivet  men  together  be  sundered  forever,  and  the  human  race 
turned,  like  the  sons  of  Ishmael,  into  homeless  wanderers. 
They  feel  their  obligations  to  a  system  which  has  done  so  much 
for  them  and  for  humanity  in  general.  There's  Mr.  Smith, 
their  preacher — they  pay  him  six  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Their 
church  cost  them  eighty  thousand  .dollars ;  and  they  think  they 
can  safely  say  it  was  dirt  cheap  at  that.  To  be  sure,  there's  Mr. 
Jones — a  good  man,  who  preaches  in  the  little  church  around  the 
corner — finds  it  rather  tight  work,  with  his  large  family,  to 
creep  through  on  his  nine  or  ten  hundred  dollars,  but  that's  his 
look  out ;  and  if  his  little  church,  with  its  humble  congregation, 
is  struggling  with  two  or  three  thousand  dollars  of  debt,  that's 
none  of  their  business.  People  ought  to  be  careful  how  they 
contract  debts.  If  they  want  churches,  and  haven't  got  the 
money  to  pay  for  them,  let  them  do  without  them.  What 
business  have  people  with  churches  when  they  can't  pay  for 
them  1  They  ought  to  look  out  and  mind  what  they're  doing. 
As  to  expecting  help  from  them,  they  needn't  think  it.  Sink 
or  swim,  live  or  die,  let  every  tub  stand  on  its  own  bottom ! 
Do  they  honor  Religion  1  Yes,  sir !  And  everything  else 
which  they,  as  good  citizens  and  good  Christians  ought  to  honor 
— in  a  paying  way  !" 

"  This  state  of  things,  sir,"  said  Samuel,  "  is  very  sad — too 
sad  for  laughter,  too  sad  for  mockery  !  All  men  are  not  so 
bad  as  you  would  picture  them.  But  you  omit  all  mention 
of  the  good  !  Have  you  no  kindly  word  for  them  ?" 

"  They  have  no  need  of  any  praise  of  mine !"  returned  the 


46  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

man  of  the  world.  "  The  tranquillity  of  their  own  hearts  is 
enough.  You  remember  the  adage,  '  Virtue  is  its  own  reward!'  " 

"  Ah !  would  you  but  believe  in  that !  Then  would  you 
cease  that  icy  sarcasm  upon  the  failings  of  poor  weak  hu 
manity,  and  that  painful  levity  when  touching  on  sacred 
things!" 

"  Young  man,"  returned  the  stranger  coldly,  "  when  you  shall 
have  seen  as  much  of  this  hollow  world  as  I  have — when  you 
shall  have  seen  as  much  of  its  hypocrisy  as  I  have — when, 
like  me,  you  have  drunk  of  the  hyssop  and  the  gall  which  it 
puts  to  the  lips  of  every  young,  confiding  mind  that  falls  within 
its  grasp — when  you  shall  have  imbibed  from  its  tempting  but 
bitter  chalice  as  deeply  as  I  have,  then  you  will  despise  it  as 
heartily  and  honestly  as  I  do !"  '  "^  '• 

"  You  have  suffered  f 

"What  matters  that?  All  men  must  suffer.  That  is  the 
price  of  association  with  your  '  reasoning'  men ;  with  that 
bright  host  of  intellects  who  only  resemble  brutes  in  their — 
acts !" 

"  Dear  friend — may  I  take  the  privilege  of  calling  you  so  ? — 
you  have  started  wrong  in  life,  for  your  own  happiness.  Par 
don  me  if  I  am  too  bold ;  for  you  are  further  advanced  than 
myself,  have  necessarily  seen  more  of  the  world,  and  may 
therefore  regard  it  as  impertinent  in  me  to  tender  counsel  to 
one  so  much  my  own  senior  in  years." 

"  Let  that  pass,"  said  the  stranger,  courteously.  "  Wisdom 
comes  not  always  with  gray  hairs,  nor  does  folly  follow  ever  in 
the  track  of  youth.  Proceed  !" 

"  Many  thanks  !  In  man's  brief  passage  over  the  high-road 
of  life  there  are  two  pathways — the  Right  and  the  Left :  the 
one  leading  to  never-ending  happiness,  the  other  to  never-ending 
woe.  Standing  at  the  head  of  the  first  is  an  agent  of  the  Prince 
of  Light ;  at  that  of  the  second,  an  agent  of  the  Prince  of 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  47 

Darkness.  Says  he  of  the  Right,  '  Come  this  way,  brother ; 
peace  and  concord  are  with  us ;  the  fountains  on  the  wayside 
are  sweet,  refreshing,  strengthening — drink  freely  as  you  go ; 
anguish  then  will  lose  its  keenness,  sorrow  then  will  lose  its 
depth,  and  bitterness  its  sting.  There  may  be  thorns  of  trial  and 
temptation  on  the  way,  but  the  thorns  do  not  kill ;  there  may  be 
rocks  and  ruts,  and  you  may  get  sore  and  aweary — but  the 
rocks  and  the  ruts  can  be  borne :  for  there  are  soft  resting, 
places  on  the  route,  there  is  light  all  the  way,  and  our  Prince 
awaits  your  coming  at  the  end.  Come,  come  this  way  !'  Ah, 
dear  friend !  happy  he  who  hearkens  to  this  voice,  and  takes 
the  path  so  kindly,  so  earnestly  pointed  to  his  eye.  For  him 
thenceforth  sorrow  has  no  pain,  calamity  no  sting.  For  him  a 
mild  and  pleasant  heart — for  him  pure  present  joy — for  him 
prospective  bliss,  whose  duration  is  eternal.  Says  he  of  the 
Left,  '  Come  this  way  ;  we  have  pleasure  and  pride,  and  tempting 
things  to  beguile  you  into  waking  and  sleeping  dreams  which 
shall  last  while  you  live.  There  are  thorns  on  the  way,  it  is 
true,  but  we  can  show  you  how  to  blunt  their  points,  so  you  shall 
not  feel  their  pain.  We  have  ways  of  making  the  rocks  softer 
than  couches  of  eider  down;  and  then  the  ruts  are  all  covered, 
so  you  can  avoid  falling  in.  We  have  syrens  whose  voices  will 
woo  you  to  short  slumbers,  music  softer  than  that  of  the  stars  ; 
riches  that  will  crush  the  voice  of  conscience  and  fill  you  with 
the  vanity  of  power ;  rank,  influence,  and  fame  shall  be  yours— 
come  and  take  them.  You  shall  be  strong  enough  to  tread  upon 
your  enemies,  to  grind  down  the  poor,  and  gratify  every  whim. 
Men  shall  wait  upon  your  beck,  slaves  shall  fly  at  your  bid 
ding,  and  you  *shall  enjoy  the  fruits  of  pride,  of  wealth,  of 
worldly  fame,  of  One-man  power,  to  the  utmost.  We  have  arti 
ficial  lights  all  the  way,  and — our  prince  awaits  your  coming,  as 
his  prey,  at  the  end  !'  Ah  !  there  is  anxiety  among  the  angels 
while  the  poor  pilgrim  is  hesitating  which  road  he  will  take ; 


48  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

there  is  joy  in  their  hearts,  if  he  turn  to  the  Right,  a  song  ot 
sadness  on  their  lips  if  he  walk  to  the  Left.  In  his  own  heart 
the  spirit  of  good  bows  its  head  in  sorrow  and  in  tears,  while  its 
foe,  the  spirit  of  evil,  utters  an  exultant  shout  o'er  his  fall !  With 
him  mildew,  with  him  blight,  with  him  canker,  yearning,  disap 
pointment,  bitterness — evermore.  For  though  the  world  be 
bright,  its  brightness  is  not  real ;  though  it  have  its  wisdom,  its 
wisdom  is  most  pitiful ;  though  it  have  its  pleasures,  they  are 
fleeting  as  the  wind  ;  though  it  has  its  lures,  they  are  lures,  and 
no  more;  there  is  no  substance  in  its  joys,  no  permanence  in  its 
glories,  no  honesty  in  its  smiles,  no  stability  in  its  riches.  A 
sense  of  insecurity,  of  temporariness,  of  unreality,  floats  upper 
most  in  the  minds  of  its  votaries,  neutralizes  their  enjoyments, 
and  fills  them  with  doubt  and  dread  of  all  around  them,  and  of 
The  Beyond  whither  they  are  hastening.  Ah  !  my  friend,  is  this 
a  life  to  choose  for  happiness  V 

The  stranger  made  no  reply.  He  dropped  his  deep,  thought 
ful  eyes,  and  mused  awhile  in  silence.  At  length  he  looked  up, 
and  observed — 

"  I  will  not  say  it  is  a  life  to  choose.  But  it  is  nobler  to  be 
an  open  worldling,  than  to  add  another  to  the  vast  army  of 
hypocrites  who  use  religion  as  a  cloak  with  which  to  worm 
themselves  into  the  confidence  of  men,  that  they  may  the  more 
easily  betray  it !" 

"  What  need  of  joining  either  ?"  asked  Samuel,  calmly. 
"  Religious  hypocrites  are  simply  worldlings  of  a  subtler  order 
than  the  herd  !  They  are  in  the  Church,  but  not  of  it.  If  they 
deceive  men,  they  do  not  deceive  themselves,  and  still  less 
Him  whom  they  profess  to  serve.  In  the  ^meanwhile  they 
are  marching  onward,  like  other  worldlings,  to  their  reward. 
But  why  should  an  earnest  heart  be  governed  in  its  conduct 
by  them?  Would  a  man  hesitate  to  enter  a  gold  mine  and 
enrich  himself  with  its  dazzling  stores,  because  its  entrance  was 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  49 

strewed  around  with  fungi  ?  It  is  the  gold  he  wants,  and  not 
the  fungi.  What  is  the  fungi  to  him  ?  If  the  gold  be  there,  and 
can  be  reached — that  is  all  he  needs  to  know ;  and  then  fungi 
or  no  fungi,  the  gold  he  will  have  !  And  are  not  peace  and  con 
cord  in  life's  journey,  and  the  certainty  of  an  eternity  of  bliss  at 
the  end  of  that  journey,  worth  an  earnest  effort,  whether  hypo, 
crites  be  in  the  Church  or  no !  Say  he  will  not,  even  for  his 
own  salvation,  enter  the  Church,  because  hypocrites  are  there, 
but  hold  on  doggedly  to  the  world,  will  he  not  also  find  them 
there?" 

"Granted.  But  there  is  a  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  you 
are  dealing  with  a  scoundrel ;  on  the  other  hand,  you  are  never 
safe — the  man  whom  you  most  regard,  may  be  simply  a  rascal 
in  disguise.  What  satisfaction  in  that  ?" 

"  None,  I  confess.  But  what  satisfaction  there  can  be  in 
either  case,  I  am  unable  to  comprehend.  Surely  to  know  a  man 
a  scoundrel  is  to  know  him  to  be  in  peril,  and  therefore  to  warn 
him  of  his  danger !" 

"For  doing  which,  my  friend,  nine  times  in  ten,  the 
scoundrel  would  knock  you  down !" 

"  He  might,  and  he  might  not.  In  any  event,  I  should  have 
done  my  duty ;  and  that,"  he  added  with  his  usual  simplicity, 
"  would  compensate  for  the  fall !" 

The  stranger  was  too  well  bred  to  indulge  his  inclination  to 
laugh  outright  at  this  naive  reply,  but  he  could  not  wholly 
subdue  a  lurking  smile.  Still  the  honesty,  the  earnestness  and 
the  simplicity  with  which  it  was  uttered,  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  him ;  while  he  could  not  resist  the  conviction  that  the 
speaker  was  rising  gradually  higher  and  higher  in  his  esteem. 

"  Come,  sir,"  he  said,  at  length,  and  with  a  cordiality  of  which 
he  was  himself  unconscious,  "you  are  a  good  fellow.  What 
you  have  said  is  no  doubt  all  very  fine,  and  very  true,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  I  agree  with  you.  But  it  will  not  do — I  say  it  as 


50  WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

a  friend — it  will  not  do  to  carry  these  views  with  you  into  the 
world.  Tliey  would  be  laughed  at,,  and  yourself  covered  with 
ridicule.  Nay,  hear  me — one  word  !  Men  in  the  gross  are  ar 
rant  knaves,  unworthy  of  a  single  thought  from  a  mind  like 
yours.  They  are  vile,  ignoble,  and  stubborn  as  asses.  They 
will  listen  to  you  with  wonder,  marvel  at  your  simplicity,  and 
wind  up  by  hooting  you  off  and  making  you  a  target  for  their 
small  wit.  Let  them  run !  No  efforts  of  yours  can  save  them. 
Their  natures  are  grovelling — let  them  pass  on  to  the  perdition 
whither  they  are  bound.  If  you  would  be  popular  with  them, 
drop  down  to  their  own  level.  If  you  would  be  hated,  reviled, 
persecuted,  rent  in  pieces,  attempt  to  stem  the  tide  of  their 
iniquity,  and  your  wish  will  be  gratified.  But  if  you  wish  to 
prosper,  like  other  men,  you  must  drop  down  to  the  level  of 
other  men,  be  base  and  mean  like  other  men — and  lie,  cheat  and 
steal — conventionally,  of  course,  like  other  men.  Swim  with  the 
current,  drift  along  with  the  great  human  tide,  become  one  of 
the  world,  since  you  are  in  it,  or  you  will  live  and  die  a  beggar  !' 

"I  thank  you  for  your  counsel,"  returned  Samuel,  who  was 
touched  by  the  kindly  spirit  with  which  it  was  tendered,  "  but  I 
cannot  consent  to  follow  it." 

"As  you  like,  friend!"  returned  the  stranger,  coldly.  "The 
fellow  is  a  simpleton !"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"  I  had  a  previous  counsel,"  continued  Samuel,  observing  with 
pain  the  change  in  the  stranger's  manner. 

"  From  one  who  understood  the  world  T  asked  the  stranger, 
in  surprise. 

"  Better  than  all  within  it !"     The  stranger  laughed. 

"A  wonderful  fellow,  indeed !"  he  said,  with  an  ill-concealed 
sneer. 

"  My  PRINCE  !"  returned  Samuel,  solemnly. 

The  sneer  disappeared  from  the  stranger's  lip.  A  tear  leaped 
to  his  eye.  He  bowed  his  head  to  the  rebuke.  A  dreadful 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  51 

paleness  swept  over  his  countenance.  For  a  few  moments  he 
was  like  one  dead. 

He  recovered  slowly.  Then  looking  up,  he  extended  his  hand 
to  the  young  man,  and  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  far  from  tran 
quil — 

"  Follow  the  counsel  of  your  FRIEND,  sir  !  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  shake  youi  confidence  in  it,  or  Him.  Worldling  as  : 
am,  I  bow  to  the  beauty,  the  grandeur,  and  the  humane  spirii 
which  beam  in  the  language  of  the  Cross.  Go  on  in  the  course 
which  your  Redeemer  has  pointed  out.  It  is  the  only  true 
one !" 

"  May  I  not  add,  friend,  of  our  Redeemer  ?     Surely  you — " 

"  Enough,"  interrupted  the  stranger ;  "  I  understand  you,  and 
will  think  the  matter  over.  At  some  future  time  we  may  per 
haps  meet  again.  But  stay — here  is  my  card.  Put  it  in  your 
pocket.  One  of  these  days,  when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do, 
give  me  a  call.  I  shall,  believe  me,  be  happy  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  Meanwhile,  if  I  can,  in  any  way,  serve  you,  do  nob 
hesitate  to  inform  me  of  the  fact." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir !"  answered  Samuel,  returning  the  warm 
pressure  of  his  hand. 

"And  now  favor  me  with  your  name,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  I 
should  like  to  know  it,  if  for  no  other  reason,  to  remind  me  of 
one  who  has  caused  me  some  pleasant  railroad  hours." 

Samuel  complied  with  his  wish,  and  the  stranger  put  the  card 
on  which  it  was  written  carefully  in  his  pocket-book. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "And  now,  sir,  shake  hands.  We  are 
approaching  Utica,  where  I  get  out,  and  where  business  will 
keep  me  over  till  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  in  New  York  the  day 
after,  and  will  esteem  it  a  favor  if  you  will  then  drop  me, 
through  the  city  post,  your  address.  I  shall  observe  your  course 
with  interest ;  and  believe  me,  nothing  will  give  me  more  satis 
faction  than  to  learn  that  you  maintain,  at  every  hazard,  your 


52  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

devotion  to  the  Right,  never  wandering,  even  in  thought,  towards 
the  Left." 

"  Many  thanks,  sir.  I  shall  endeavor,  with  the  kind  aid  of  my 
Prince,  to  endure  loyally  to  the  end." 

"  Do  so,  and  be  happy.  But  here  we  are  at  the  depot.  Good- 
day,  my  friend !" 

Samuel  returned  the  warm  pressure  of  the  stranger's  hand. 
The  latter  then  passed  from  the  car,  and  disappeared  among  the 
outside  throng.  Samuel  reflected  a  few  moments  upon  the  pecu 
liarities  of  his  late  companion  ;  and  then,  with  the  ease  of  mer 
curial  youth,  turned  his-  thoughts  upon  his  own  affairs. 

The  train  swept  on  with  its  living  freight ;  dropping  here, 
taking  up  there,  and  then  sweeping  on  again,  like  a  wild,  fearful 
thing,  that  had  a  thousand  miles  to  travel,  and  with  but  a  breath 
to  do  it  in — through  the  bowels  of  the  hills,  high  over  the  val 
leys,  across  wildly  rushing  streams,  through  the  houses  of  cities, 
grazing  barns  and  churches,  over  trembling  bridges  and  dykes, 
through  mountains  of  rock,  across  marshes  and  plains — roaring 
madly  all  the  way.  Halting  suddenly ;  strange  men  and  women 
gliding  in,  strange  men  and  women  gliding  out,  and  then  sweep 
ing  on  once  more — with  now  and  then  a  screech  like  that  of  the 
tempest  in  a  rage.  Then  a  ringing  of  a  bell ;  then  a  stoppage 
— strange  men  and  women  hurrying  in,  strange  men  and  women 
hurrying  out ;  then  a  shock,  then  a  start,  and  then  a  long,  un 
broken  roar,  as  before.  Then  a  ringing  of  a  bell ;  then  a  wilder 
ness  of  houses  and  of  steeples  ;  then  a  low,  sullen  roar,  as  of  a 
thousand  steeds  and  chariots  rushing  madly  over  the  earth ;  then 
the  din  of  varied  voices — "  Have  a  carriage,  sir  ?  Right  off  to 
the  Irving  House  !"  "  Carriage,  sir  ?  Astor  !"  "  Carriage,  sir? 
carriage  1" 

Samuel  was  in  the  city ! 


CHAPTER     V. 

TAKING-  a  conveyance,  Samuel  proceeded  at  once  to  a  hotel. 
The  following  morning,  he  inquired  for  and  found  his  way  to 
the  dry  goods  house  of  Mr.  John  P.  Townsend,  to  whom  he  had 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  his  father. 

Samuel  was  somewhat  astonished  at  the  magnitude  of  the 
establishment.  It  was  a  little  world  in  itself.  In  the  elegant 
language  of  "  down  town,"  it  was  "  a  dozen  large  stores  knocked 
into  one."  To  the  eye  of  our  simple-minded  hero,  it  was  a  wil 
derness  of  little  low  counters,  standing  every  which  way,  with  a 
thousand  little  bewildering  passages,  leading  anywhere  and 
everywhere,  but  nowhere  in  particular.  The  little  low  counters 
heaped  with  piles  of  bright,  dazzling  calicoes,  which  threw  silks 
and  satins  into  the  shade — sheetings,  whiter  far  than  snow — shirt 
ings  bleached,  shirtings  brown,  shirtings  striped — merinoes  of 
more  hues  than  were  ever  discovered  in  a  rainbow — de  laines  of 
every  figure  and  color  that  ever  glided  through  the  grotesque 
mind  of  a  draughtsman,  or  combined  under  the  fanciful  pencil  of 
a  painter — flannels,  broadcloths,  cassimeres,  tickings,  were  visible 
everywhere,  and  in  a  profusion  that  was  both  stirring  and  awe- 
inspiring  to  behold ;  in  large  heaps,  and  little  heaps,  with  here 
and  there  a  vacant  space,  telling  of  perhaps  a  great  big  heap 
which  had  just  been  whipped  away  by  some  invisible  hand  for 
packing,  with  lots  of  other  heaps,  in  some  invisible  box,  and 
dispatched  by  order  to  some  invisible  customer,  living  in  some 
invisible  corner  of  the  country,  whose  name  is  duly  registered 
as  that  of  a  "  very  esteemed"  correspondent  of  the  invisible  firm 
of  this  very  visible  "  house." 


54  WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Amid  this  vast  waste  of  counters,  calicoes,  sheetings,  flannels, 
shirtings,  broadcloths,  cassimeres,  tickings,  merinoes,  and  glitter 
ing  de  laines,  might  be  seen,  here  and  there,  in  the  little,  narrow, 
wandering  passages,  like  bees  peeping  out  from  the  cells  of  a 
great  hive,  in  quest  of  daylight,  a  scattered  army  of  young 
clerks. 

One  is  "  laying  down  the  iaw"  of  prices  to  a  new  customer,  who 
is  supposed  to  believe  every  word  of  the  young  gentleman's 
statement,  that  "  their  house  can  sell  him  lower  by  a  great  deal 
than  any  other  establishment  in  town,  as  he  himself  can  see,  by 
the  very  low  figure  which  they  put  upon  their  goods.  They  can 
furnish  him  with  everything  in  the  way  of  dry  goods  that  he  may 
want,  as  their  immense,  he  may  say,  their  unequalled,  assortment 
easily  enables  them  to  do.  They  can  do  better  by  a  dealer  than 
any  other  house  in  town,  as  everybody  knows,  because  their 
enormous  capital  gives  them  facilities  which  smaller  concerns 
cannot  of  course  command.  They  wouldn't  like  to  have  the 
statement  get  abroad,  but  they  know  that  there  isn't  a  house  in 
town  that  can  begin  with  them,  either  in  variety,  freshness,  quality, 
or  quantity  of  stock.  As  for  the  way  in  which  they  serve  their 
friends,  there  is  one  fact  that  can't  be  got  over,  viz. :  that  no 
dealer  who  once  opened  an  account  with  them  was  ever  known 
to  leave  them.  They  believe  in  accommodating  their  customers  ; 
because  they  know,  from  long  experience,  that  that  is  the  only 
correct  policy  ;  it  enables  customers  to  do  their  own  business 
more  promptly,  consequently  more  extensively  ;  and  that,  as  the 
gentleman  himself  can  see,  is  to  the  interest  of  both  parties.  As 
for  packing  they  never  charge  a  friend  for  that — he  can  have  all 
of  his  goods  sent  in  to  them,  and  they  will  pack  them  for  him 
freely,  indeed  gladly.  Then,  in  the  way  of  time,  they  flatter 
themselves  they  can  tender  customers  all  the  satisfaction  they 
can  possibly  desire.  They  believe  in  giving  a  man  an  opportu 
nity  to  turn  himself  around,  without  squeezing  him  ; — they  never 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  55 

think  of  selling  their  friends  on  less  than  six  months,  while  they  fre 
quently  sell  them  on  eight,  and  even  nine,  if  that  will  serve  them 
better!" 

All  of  which  the  "  new  customer"  is  supposed  to  drink  in  with 
a  simplicity  and  gusto  truly  rural  and  refreshing. 

In  another  passage,  another  spruce  young  gentleman  is  regaling 
a  Western  buyer  with  a  true  and  reliable  account  of  his  difficulties 
in  "  getting  through  the  custom-house"  the  -brilliant  French 
moussellin  de  laines  which  the  buyer  is  examining  so  closely,  and 
which  were  imported  by  their  house,  expressly,  all  the  way  from 
— the  State  of  Massachusetts  ! 

Another  young  gentleman,  who  looks  as  if  he  had  just  come 
out  of  a  band-box,  so  nicely  is  he  "got  up,"  is  assuring  another 
Western  buyer  that  the  de  laines  he  is  looking  at  are  warranted 
not  to  fade — without  washing. 

A  third  is  industriously  engaged  in  assuring  the  country  dealer 
at  his  side,  that  "  them  prints  have  just  been  opened  ;  that  they 
are  the  latest  styles  ;  that  they  came  in  for  the  first  time  that  very 
morning  ;  that  the  cases  from  which  they  were  taken  can  be  seen 
down  stairs  in  the  packing  department" — judiciously  omitting  all 
mention  of  the  fact  that  they  had  been  quietly  stored  away  up 
stairs,  near  the  roof,  for  some  three  or  four  years. 

A  fourth  is  doing  the  agreeable  to  a  young,  inexperienced 
rural  gent,  who  desires  a  "blazing  stock  of  roaring  goods,  which 
will  enable  him  to  smash  up  an  old-established  rival — an  old 
fogy  who  will  shortly  find  that  Young  America  is  too  much  for 
him,  and  who  will  have  to  vacate  in  double  quick  time  with  his 
antediluvian  traps,  and  give  place  to  one  who  can  whip  his  hide 
off  any  day  in  the  way  of  trade." 

A  fifth,  pale  and  languid  from  the  last  night's  spree,  is  driving 
away  a  sick  headache  in  a  bold  effort  to  "  rope  in"  a  close, 
shrewd  old  codger  from  the  interior  of  the  State,  who  always 
makes  it  a  point  when  he  "  comes  down"  in  the  spring  and  fall, 


56  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

to  call  in  at  that  very  store,  run  through  all  the  goods,  learn  all 
their  prices,  and  to  invariably  go  away  without  "  making  a 
bill." 

A  sixth  is  "feeling"  a  Missouri  gentleman,  who  "has  been 
buying  in  St.  Louis  heretofore,  and  who  has  now  come  to  New 
York,  to  see  if  the  difference  between  St.  Louis  and  New  York 
prices  is  great  enough  to  make  it  an  object  for  him  to  change. 
Of  the  two,  he  would  rather  buy  in  New  York — the/  gouge  a 
fellow  so  in  St.  Louis,  that  a  man  can  scarcely  pay  his  bills  and 
live.  What  he  wants  to  come  at  now  is,  whether  New  York 
prices  and  the  freights — freights  are  positively  awful,  almost 
bad  enough  to  compel  a  man  to  throw  up  business  altogether ! 
— foot  up  in  the  gross  so  as  to  fall  below  the  prices  of  St.  Louis, 
and  leave  a  small  margin  besides.  If  so,  he  is  going  to  change 
the  direction  of  his  trade,  right  quick.  He's  been  gouged  by  St. 
Louis  long  enough ;  and  if  he's  compelled  to  submit  to  its  mon 
strous  extortions  any  longer,  it  won't  be  his  fault !" 

A  seventh  is  exercising  his  own  lungs  and  the  patience  of  a 
cautious  old  dealer  at  his  elbow  with  information  to  the  effect 
that  he  is  "  absolutely  buying  too  little  of  that  print.  It  is  per 
fectly  new;  will  be  all  the  rage,  and  if  he  isn't  careful  he  will 
be  caught  napping."  Old  gentleman  shakes  his  head,  and  hasn't 
the  least  fear  of  being  detected  in  that  way,  at  all.  Young  gen 
tleman  insinuates  that  he'd  better  reconsider  the  matter;  that 
print  will  have  a  desp'rit  run,  and  what  will  make  it  very  bad  is 
the  important  fact  there  is  only  a  small  supply  of  it  in  the 
market."  Old  gentleman  will  run  the  risk  of  all  that.  Young 
gentleman  "  thinks  he'd  better  be  careful,  now — he'd  better  take 
a  few  more  pieces."  Old  gentleman  quietly  but  firmly  declines, 
and  they  pass  on  to  other  patterns. 

An  eighth  is  selling  a  tremendous  bill  to  an  Illinois  friend,  an 
old  good-natured  customer,  who  always  pays,  and  who  always 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  57 

takes  whatever  is  suggested  to  him  by  that  clerk,  in  whose  judg 
ment  he  has  far  more  confidence  than  in  his  own. 

A  ninth  is  earnestly  urging  a  Jersey  friend,  who  buys  moder 
ately,  and  always  for  cash,  that  he'd  better  "go  a  bigger  assort 
ment"  and  heavier  lots  of  each.  Jerseyman  is  very  modest,  very 
cautious,  and  "  thinks  not.  Besides,  he  only  brought  a  thousand 
dollars  for  his  dry  goods,  and  that  is  now  nearly  all  used  up  by 
what  he  has  already  laid  out."  Ninth  suggests  that  Jersey, 
whom  he  knows  to  be  "  good  as  wheat,"  "  needn't  let  that  deter 
him,  as  he — Ninth — will  sell  him  all  he  wants,  and  take  his  note 
for  the  amount  at  six  months."  Jersey  thinks  he  has  got  all  he 
wants  now ;  as  to  notes,  he  never  gives  any.  "  Don't  know  what 
might  happen.  Suppose  he  should  die,  and  he  had  notes  out — 
what  then  1  They  would  create  trouble  for  his  executors,  and 
that  wouldn't  do.  Besides,  his  family  would'nt  like  it.  They 
never  gave  notes,  because  they  knew  very  well  there  was  no 
telling  what  might  happen.  Suppose  one  of  them  should  die, — 
suppose  he  should  die  himself,  and  with  notes  out  that  the  estate 
couldn't  pay — what  then?"  Ninth  was  "quite  willing  to  run 
the  risk."  Jersey  quietly  affirmed  that  "  he  was  not,"  and  Ninth 
smiled  like  a  gentleman  suffering  with  the  toothache. 

A  tenth  is  telling  an  eleventh  confidentially,  how  he  is  looking 
every  moment  for  "  a  Buckeye,  a  particular  friend  of  his,  who, 
whenever  he  comes  to  town,  never  makes  a  bill  of  less  than  five 
thousand  dollars,  and  always  pays  cash."  Eleventh  smiles  in 
credulously  ;  as  Tenth  has  been  telling  that  same  story  for  more 
than  two  years,  and  the  Buckeye  hasn't  made  his  appearance 
yet !  Tenth  grins  and  colors  up,  and  says,  "  he's  looking  for  him 
any  how,  and  means  to  wait  patiently  till  he  comes."  Eleventh 
impressively  intimates  that  he  will  wait  for  the  Buckeye  a  long 
time. 

A  twelfth  is  explaining  to  an  old  customer,  who,  as  the  house 
has  recently  discovered,  is  rather  loose  in  the  joints — loose  in 


58  WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  joints  meaning  that  his  ability  is  as  dubious  as  his  willingness 
to  pay — "  how  the  house  is  now  only  selling  for  cash,  its  numer 
ous  heavy  losses  of  late,  by  the  caving  in  of  many  of  its  oldest 
and  heaviest  correspondents,  having  driven  it  to  that  course  ;  how 
it  will  sell  him  very,  very  low,  and  thus  make  it  an  object  for 
him  to  buy  ;  how  it — the  house — has  closed  all  its  accounts,  and 
is  now  selling  wholly  and  exclusively  for  cash."  Loose-in-the- 
joints  is  somewhat  taken  aback  at  this  startling  intelligence  : 
"  thinks  it  is  hardly  fair  treatment  to  one  who  has  dealt  with  the 
house  so  many  years,  and  always  paid  so  punctually  ;  and  would 
like  to  know  the  meaning  of  it,"  although  he  knows  the  meaning 
of  it  very  well  already. 

A  thirteenth,  who  is  noted  throughout  the  establishment  for 
his  "  sharpness,"  is  "  managing"  a  Michigan  gent,  and  "  putting 
him  through"  on  "  scientific  principles,"  which  few  in  his  way 
understand  or  know  how  to  practise  better  than  himself.  He  is 
regarded  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in  his  line.  He  can 
handle  the  oldest,  shrewdest,  and  closest  buyers  with  equal  dex 
terity.  He  can  tell  the  character  of  a  customer  at  a  glance.  He 
has  a  trick  of  "  sticking"  old  shop- worn  goods  upon  the  shrewdest, 
and  of  making  them  believe  that  they  are  the  latest  patterns  out. 
He  possesses  a  "  knack"  for  making  the  most  cautious  dealers 
buy  at  least  five  times  as  heavily  as  they  designed  when  starting 
away  from  home.  He  will  convince  the  oldest  buyers,  by  evi 
dence  which  is  wholly  overwhelming,  of  their  utter  ignorance  of 
the  first  rudiments  of  their  own  business,  although  they  may 
have  been  pretty  successful  in  it  for  more  than  thirty  years ; 
and  he  will  satisfy  the  youngest  and  most  inexperienced  that 
they  are  perfectly  "  posted  up,"  and  that  they  will  ere  long 
wholly  "  use  up"  their  competitors,  and  whip  them  clean  out  of 
sight:  all  of  which  the  buyers  unhesitatingly  believe,  although 
they  are  somewhat  staggered  in  the  end  at  the  enormous  bills 
which  Thirteen  adroitly  led  them  to  insensibly  run  up,  while  he 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  59 

was  duly  impressing  them  with  a  "  realizing  consciousness"  of 
these  flattering  facts.  Indeed,  so  firmly  established  is  Thirteen's 
reputation  in  this  respect,  it  is  a  common  saying  in  the  trade, 
that  "  when  a  dealer  passes  through  his  hands,  he  comes  out  like 
a  squeezed  lemon." 

Thirteen's  present  victim  is  a  "  very  knowing"  gentleman  from 
Michigan,  who  innocently  flatters  himself  it  "  will  take  a  smart 
fellow  indeed  to  come  it  over  him.  He  understands  himself,  he 
does.  He  aint  bin  in  trade  twenty  years,  right  in  the  face 
of  the  tearingest  opposition  a  merchant  ever  had,  for  nothing. 
No,  indeed  !  He  has  bought  cloth,  he  has  bought  dry  goods, 
and  what  is  more,  he  allers  knew  how  to  get  rid  of  all  he  bought. 
Now,  although  it  don't  invariably  foller  that  because  a  man 
knows  how  to  sell,  he  knows  equally  as  well  how  to  buy,  he 
kinder  reckons  he  does  know  a  little  of  both.  So  it's  no  use  in 
anybody's  trying  to  come  city  dodges  over  him,  because  he  knows 
all  about  'em.  He's  bought  in  New  York  afore — he  has ;  thinks 
his  face  is  known  to  a  few  of  the  houses  there,  and  that  many  of 
the  biggest  on  'em  would  be  mighty  glad  to  get  his  name  on 
their  books  and  his  note  in  their  hand  for  a  few  thousands.  But 
he  is  keerful — he  is ;  and  when  anybody  gets  his  note,  he  is 
allers  a  leetle  curis  to  know  what  it's  for.  As  to  putting  old 
shop-worn  goods  on  to  him,  they  can't  do  it,  and  they  might  as 
well  know  it  first  as  last.  As  for  decoying  him  into  the  purchase 
of  goods  that  he  don't  want,  that  can't  be  did,  nuther,  and  they 
might  as  well  know  it,  too.  And  then  as  for  stickin'  him  on  big 
bills,  when  he  only  intends  to  make  small  uns — let  'em  try  it, 
that's  all !  When  he  comes  to  New  York,  he  comes  there  to 
buy,  like  an  honest  merchint,  and  he  don't  mean  to  be  chiselled. 
If  any  of  the  fellers  there  are'smart  enough  to  lay  him  out,  let 
them  try  it  on  ;  he's  will  in' !" 

To  all  of  which  Thirteen  smilingly  accedes,  and  after  two 
hovs  of  mingled  flattery,  insinuating  smiles,  and  masterly  man- 


60  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THB  LEFT. 

agement,  Michigan  is  "  laid  out,"  with  all  the  honors ;  Thirteen 
deeming  it  a  point  of  honor  to  "  chisel"  him  to  the  fullest  extent 
and  in  the  most  scientific  manner  :  with  a  magnificent  array  of 
old  shop-worn  goods,  a  moderate  proportion  of  articles  really 
fresh,  and  all  at  prices  which  would  fill  a  tyro  with  amaze — the 
whole  terminating  in  a  bill  which  shook  poor  Michigan  for  the 
next  six  months  with  all  the  agony  of  pecuniary  terror. 

Samuel,  however,  was  too  ignorant  of  the  business  details  of  a 
New  York  dry  goods  jobbing-house  to  comprehend  more  of 
the  picture  before  him  than  appeared  upon  its  surface.  All  he 
saw  was  what  his  eye  took  in,  and  that  told  him  simply  of  a  vast 
store,  a  vast  stock,  a  vast  body  of  clerks,  a  vast  business,  and 
vast  wealth  :  all  of  which  impressed  him  with  a  certain  sense  of 
awe,  which  he  found  it  difficult,  for  a  few  moments,  to  subdue. 
He  did  subdue  it,  however,  and  then  calmly  bent  his  way  to  the 
nearest  clerk. 

"  Is  Mr.  Townsend  in  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  sir.     Walk  this  way,"  was  the  polite  reply. 

Samuel  followed  his  conductor,  who  was  some  years  younger 
than  himself,  through  a  long  line  of  sinuous  passages,  towards  the 
rear,  where  three  steps  led  to  a  platform,  on  which  were  three 
small  but  spacious  offices,  whose  glazed  fronts  commanded  a 
view  of  the  entire  floor.  The  office  on  the  right,  as  a  showy  sign 
near  its  door  indicated,  was  that  of  the  book-keeper  and  his  assist 
ants,  who  could  distinctly  be  seen  through  the  panes ;  the  one  in 
the  centre — the  largest  of  the  three — as  the  lettering  on  its  door 
made  evident,  was  the  private  sanctum  of  the  head  of  the  estab 
lishment  himself;  the  third,  on  the  left,  which  had  no  sign  at  all, 
was  the  office  of  a  personage  of  no  little  importance,  either  in  his 
own  eyes,  or  those  of  the  establishment,  viz.:  Mr.  Edward 
Brigham,  the  confidential  clerk. 

His  young  guide  opened  the  door  of  the  central  office,  and 
pointing  to  a  gentleman  who  was  sitting  before  a  showy  but 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  61 

massive  walnut  desk,  leisurely  running  his  eye  over  a  morning 
paper,  Samuel  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  his  future  em 
ployer. 

Mr.  Townsend  was  a  tall,  portly  man,  with  a  fine  Grecian  head, 
which  was  covered  with  a  superb  shock  of  coarse  but  snow-white 
hair.  He  had  a  blue,  pleasant  eye,  and  a  pleasant,  well-cut  lip : 
both  of  which  told,  however,  of  a  calm,  resolute  will,  and  a  happy 
temper,  which  could  not  be  very  easily  disturbed. 

The  merchant  received  his  visitor  with  a  genial  urbanity,  which 
speedily  set  the  latter  at  his  ease ;  and  ere  twenty  minutes  had 
flown,  the  latter  was  as  much  at  home  in  his  presence  as  if  he 
had  known  him  for  twenty  years. 

It  was  to  his  indomitable  resolution,  which  smiled  even  at  im 
possibilities — to  his  constant  good-nature,  which  made  him  a 
general  favorite,  and  to  his  happy  talent  for  placing  himself  and 
all  around  him  on  a  genial  footing — a  rare  faculty,  and  one  which 
few  men  know  the  value  of,  or  it  would  be  more  extensively  culti 
vated — that  the  merchant  owed  a  large  share  of  his  prosperity. 
To  these,  however,  must  be  added  a  somewhat  elastic  conscience, 
which  enabled  its  owner  to  "  lie  upon  occasion,"  in  a  business  way, 
without  remorse,  and  to  do  as  all  other  people  did  who  were  not 
above  making  money,  and  ivere  above  letting  the  world  know  to 
what  small  meannesses  they  were  capable  of  descending  for  tie 
purpose  of  obtaining  it.  Still  Mr.  Townsend,  as  the  world  goes, 
was  by  no  means  a  bad  man.  He  could  lie  when  it  served  his 
pecuniary  interest  to  do  so,  but  then  he  flattered  himself  that,  as 
a  business  man,  he  was  not  alone  in  that  little  weakness,  "  and 
besides,  who  knew  it,  and  what  was  more,  who  wouldn't?"  He 
paid  his  employees  liberally,  because  he  was  sagacious  enough  to 
discover  that  that  was  the  truest  business  policy.  "It  brings  the 
best  talent  in  the  market  to  your  hands,"  muttered  the  crafty 
worldling,  "  and  the  best  talent  brings  in  the  most  business,  and 
the  most  business  brings  in  the  most  money  !"  He  had  a  name 


62  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

for  liberality  in  his  church,  and  that  name  brought  him  numerous 
customers ;  he  had  also,  in  his  church,  a  name  for  fervent  piety  : 
"And  that,"  mused  the  cunning  merchant,  '*  is  a  paying  thing,  too 
— for  piety  implies  honesty,  honesty  begets  confidence,  confidence 
brings  business,  and  business  brings  money  !"  He  had  a  name 
also  for  frankness  :  "  Frankness,"  thought  the  wily  merchant, 
"  helps  one  wonderfully  as  a  name.  It  begets  frankness  in  others, 
and  that  sometimes  helps  a  man,  who  has  means  in  his  pocket, 
to  golden  opportunities.  Besides,  it  preserves  one  from  a  sus 
picion  of  depth.  To  say  of  a  man  '  He  is  deep,'  is  to  say  '  Look 
out  for  him !'  and  that  is  ruin.  Men  have  an  instinctive  dread  of 
'  deep'  persons — they  smell  theft,  heartlessness,  and  treachery  in 
them.  But  frankness  inspires  confidence,  and  with  it,  for  a  name, 
one  can  be  deep  without  being  suspected ;  and  then  he  can  play 
deep,  and  that  brings  money  !"  Still,  as  the  world  goes,  Mr. 
Townsend  was  by  no  means  a  bad  man.  He  always  kept  his  word 
— because  it  paid ;  was  punctual  in  all  his  engagements — because 
it  paid;  liberal — because  it  paid ;  good-natured — because  it  paid; 
frank — because  it  paid;  and  what  the  world  calls  'pious' — 
for  the  same  weighty  reason.  And  yet,  Mr.  Townsend  had  his 
good  traits,  as  well.  He  was  occasionally  generous  from  im 
pulse,  and  what  he  agreed  to  do  in  such  moments,  he  always 
honestly  fulfilled — so  far  as  the  world  knew !  Thus  he  had 
promised,  some  years  before,  having  no  children  of  his  own,  to 
take  care  of  two  orphan  nieces,  both  of  whom  had  been  left  with 
property  ;  a  promise  which  he  honestly  fulfilled,  as  all  the  world 
knew — but  as  all  the  world  did  not  know,  he  was  handsomely 
rewarded  for  his  benevolence,  by  leasing  their  properties  at  cer 
tain  fixed  rates,  and  then  renting  them  out  on  his  own  account, 
realizing  about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  per  cent,  by  the 
operation.  This  fact,  however,  was  known  only  to  himself,  and 
as  he  never  presented  the  young  ladies  with  bills  for  their  board, 
they,  in  common  with  all  the  world,  regarded  "  guardy"  as  H 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  63 

"dear  good  soul,  whose  great  heart  would  be  the  ruin  of  him 
some  day  !" 

The  simple  inhabitants  of  Enfield  innocently  believed  the 
reports  which  reached  them  from  time  to  time  from  the  city,  that 
of  all  their  number  who  had  left  their  native  village  for  the  metrop 
olis,  Mr.  Townsend  alone  was  the  rare  exception,  who,  amid  all 
the  temptations  of  commerce,  preserved  intact  the  piety  of  his 
youth  and  the  great  moral  trust  reposed  in  him  by  his  Maker ! 

"  Well,  Samuel,"  said  this  "good  man,"  in  his  mild,  pleasant 
way,  "let  us  come  to  an  understanding.  My  dear  friend,  your 
father  writes  me  that  you  desire  to  learn  the  dry  goods  business, 
with  the  view  of  entering  it,  at  a  future  day,  on  your  own  account. 
Well,  that  presupposes  a  clerkship ;  and  that  in  our  establishment  T' 

Samuel  bowed. 

"  Very  good,"  continued  the  merchant,  genially.  "  Now,  then, 
for  the  consideration.  In  our  business,  the  salaries  of  clerks  are 
graduated  by  the  sales  which  they  effect ;  or,  more  properly  speak 
ing,  by  the  amount  of  business  which  they  influence.  For  in 
stance,  if  you  should  influence  sales  to  the  amount  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  you  would  be  worth  from  eight  hundred  to  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  That  is  the  average  trade  influence  of 
what  we  call  our  clever  clerks.  Others  run  higher,  and  their 
earnings  are  in  proportion.  Some,  but  their  number  is  few,  in 
fluence  business  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred  and  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  These  are  worth  from  three  to  three 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars  per  year.  Rather  princely  for  a 
mere  clerk — eh,  Samuel !" 

"  Very,  indeed,  sir !  Have  you  many  of  that  description  in 
your  establishment  ]" 

Two  only — which  is  just  one  more  than  most  houses  can 
boast  of.  One  of  them  is  Mr.  Brigham,  our  confidential  clerk, 
and  the  other  a  Mr.  Stubbs.  The  first  earns  from  thirty-five  hun 
dred  to  four  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  the  second  from  three 


64  WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

thousand  to  three  thousand  five  hundred,  although  we  have  known 
him,  in  one  or  two  instances,  to  run  up  as  high  as  thirty-seven 
hundred  and  fifty.  That  is  the  gentleman  out  there,"  and  he 
pointed  to  thirteen,  whose  features  were  illumined  by  a  peculiar 
smile,  which  his  fellow-clerks  understood  very  well  to  mean  that 
he  was  "  doing  his  man  up  brown." 

"  He  looks  cheerful !"  observed  Samuel. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  merchant,  "  he  is  '  getting  on'  with  his  cus 
tomer.  A  man  of  talent,  Samuel,  and  understands  himself.  He 
will  be  a  merchant  yet!  You  would  do  well  to  court  his 
acquaintance,  Samuel.  He  can  teach  you  more  of  the  business 
in  an  hour  than  you  could  pick  up  yourself  in  three  years !" 

"  Indeed,  sir  1     I  thank  you  for  the  kind  suggestion  !" 

"  You  are  welcome.  But  to  return.  It  is  usual  in  our  busi 
ness  to  put  new-comers  into  certain  departments :  for  instance, 
to  give  to  one  the  charge  of  the  ginghams,  to  another  the  prints, 
to  another  the  merinoes,  to  a  fourth  the  bleached  muslins,  to 
a  fifth  the  cottons,  to  a  sixth  the  flannels,  to  a  seventh  the 
cloths  and  cassimeres, — and  so  on ;  changing  them  from  time  to 
time  from  one  department  to  another,  till  they  become  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  character,  qualities,  and  prices  of  each  and  all. 
This  takes  from  one  to  two  years,  during  which  time  we  allow 
them  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  dollars  per  annum.  When  they 
have  become  posted  up  in  all  the  details  of  the  business,  we  then 
send  them  off  on  short  drumming  tours — sometimes  South,  some 
times  West — to  see  what  they're  made  of.  If  they  are  success 
ful  in  drumming  up  customers  and  influencing  business,  we  then 
raise  their  salaries,  graduating  them,  of  course,  by  the  amount  of 
business  which  they  influence.  In  your  case,  however,  being  a 
friend,  we  shall  deviate  slightly  from  the  regular  course.  We 
will  put  you,  for  instance,  in  the  gingham  department,  and  let 
you  remain  there  till  you  become  familiar  with  its  details,  when 
you  can  change  off  to  another,  and  from  that  to  another,  until  you 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  65 

obtain  a  complete  general  knowledge  of  the  business,  and  then 
you  may  stay  altogether  in  the  store  and  attend  to  the  chance 
customers." 

Samuel  expressed  his  acknowledgments  for  this  favor,  and 
the  merchant  continued — 

"  For  this  we  will  allow  you,  for  the  first  year,  three  hundred 
dollars ;  your  salary  for  the  second  will  depend  considerably 
upon  yourself.  If  you  are  smart,  and  study  the  interest  of  the 
house,  we  may  find  it  advantageous  to  raise  it  to  six  or  seven 
hundred.  Is  this  satisfactory  ?" 

"  Perfectly,  sir !"  answered  Samuel. 

"Very  good.  Then  you  can  enter  upon  your  duties  when 
you  please.  Let  us  see.  This  is  Wednesday — half  of  the  week. 
The  other  half  you  might  as  well  employ  in  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  city,  and  brushing  the  effect  of  its  novelty  from  your 
mind.  On  Monday  morning  you  can  commence  fresh  and  lively, 
and  with  your  wits  about  you.  You  will  want  them  all,"  added 
the  merchant,  laughingly,  "  in  the  dry  goods  business !" 

"  I  suppose  so,  sir !" 

"  You  will  be  sure  of  it,  ere  you  get  to  the  top  of  the  ladder !" 
rejoined  the  merchant,  with  genial  significance.  "And  now  to 
another  matter.  Your  father  desires  me,  in  his  letter,  to  give 
you,  if  possible,  a  home  in  my  own  house,  where  you  will  enjoy 
the  benefit  of  the  pure  society  to  which  you  have  been  accustom 
ed.  This  is  a  very  natural  request  on  the  part  of  my  worthy 
friend  the  pastor,  but  I  hardly  know  what  to  say.  It  is  so  uncom 
mon  for  a  merchant  to  take  his  clerks  under  his  own  roof,  that  I 
must  think — yes,  I  must  think  the  matter  over  a  few  minutes ! 
Let  me  see — let  me  see !" 

And  the  merchant's  pleasant  eyes  dropped  thoughtfully  upon 
his  desk. 

Samuel  was  under  the  impression  that  this  was  already  decided 
upon,  and  a  promise  given  by  Mr.  Townsend  to  his  "  dear  friend," 


66  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  pastor,  to  that  effect ;  but,  as  the  merchant  had  apparently 
forgotten  it,  our  hero,  with  his  usual  diffidence,  did  not  deem  it 
either  just  or  delicate  to  remind  him  of  the  fact. 

"  If  I  take  this  young  man  to  my  house,"  mused  the  "  honest' 
merchant,  "I  shall  make — what?  Let  me  see.  There  are  four 
of  us,  and  I  am  the  only  man.  The  ladies  want  society,  and  this 
young  fellow  is  young  enough,  handsome  enough,  and  intelligent 
enough,  to  meet  that  want,  and  give  it  zest.  The  girls,  too,  need 
an  occasional  jaunting  companion,  and  Samuel  will  meet  that 
want,  which  will  be  a  great  relief  all  around — and  particularly 
to  myself,  since  he  will  fill  the  post,  which  has  been  too  long 
expected  of  '  guardy,'  who  can  then  be  a  little  more  of  his  own 
master.  Then,  too,  the  young  dog  is  handsome  enough  to  give 
some  uneasiness  to  Brigham,  who  fancies  himself  perfectly  secure 
in  the  affections  of  my  eldest  niece,  and  rides  of  late  altogether 
too  high  a  horse  in  consequence.  He  thinks  that  with  her  for 
tune  and  his  own  savings,  he  could  make  an  effort  on  his  own 
account,  and  give  the  house  of  John  P.  Townsend  a  stout  tug, 
posted  up  as  he  is  in  all  the  details  of  its  business  and  the  qual 
ities  of  its  customers.  He  might  prove  a  troublesome  competi 
tor,  and,  should  he  wander  to  any  other  house,  an  annoying  enemy. 
To  bring  him  down  a  peg  or  two,  would  do  him  no  harm;  while, 
the  dread  of  a  rival  would  lead  him  quietly  to  a  more  proper 
appreciation  of  his  p's  and  q's  :  an  important  object,  since  he  feels 
his  oats  a  little  too  proudly.  Thus  will  this  young  simpleton  pay 
me  handsomely  for  the  pure  society  which  he  will  find  under  my 
roof!  There  are  rooms  enough  to  spare,  and  his  food  would  be 
of  but  little  account.  It  would  not  do,  of  course,  to  charge  him 
anything — it  would  sound  bad ;  while  to  give  it  to  him  would 
sound  well.  The  amount  would  be  too  insignificant  to  make  a 
figure  of;  while  the  act  itself  would  be  talked  of  greatly :  and 
that,  in  the  end,  would  pay.  I  have  not  to  learn,  at  this  late  day, 
that  every  dollar  given,  with  an  appearance  of  liberality,  returns 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  67 

four-fold  to  the  giver.  Yes,  I  see — I  see.  It  will  pay,  in  more 
ways  than  one,  to  take  this  young  simpleton  home." 

Having  reached  the  end  of  his  soliloquy,  the  merchant  flung 
his  pleasant  glance  upon  the  young  man,  and  said — 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Samuel,  how  we  could  make  room  for 
you,  and  at  length  see  my  way.  It  appeared  rather  dubious  at 
first ;  but  one  must  stretch  a  point  for  a  friend.  Besides,  the  old 
village  is  dear  to  me,  and  by  having  one  of  its  sons  near  me, 
when  business  cares  are  over,  I  shall,  as  it  were,  be  in  beloved 
Enfield  again.  Ah!  the  bright  memories  of  youth,  how  we  cher 
ish  them  in  our  age  !  With  you  at  our  board,  I  shall  be  happy  ; 
youth  will  return,  with  all  the  richness  of  its  glittering  visions; 
boyhood  will  come  again,  like  the  fond  dream  of  a  long  and  joy 
ous  holiday  ;  the  village  green,  the  emerald  fields,  the  verdant 
hills,  the  old  school  beneath  the  church,  and  the  old  church  itself, 
which  our  sires  built  long  years  before,  and  from  whose  pulpit 
our  venerable  pastor — your  grandfather,  Samuel! — used  to 
point  our  little  hearts  to  heaven — these  will  all  return,  to  reju 
venate  this  old  frame  and  fill  it  with  childhood's  laughing  joys. 
Yes,  for  old  Enfield's  sake,  your  dear  father's,  and  your  own,  my 
friend,  we  will  break  through  custom,  and  enjoy  the  same  fire 
side  !" 

Samuel  was  touched,  to  the  verge  of  tears,  at  this  kindness ; 
and  he  looked  the  gratitude  which  he  felt,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  As  to  recompense,"  pursued  the  crafty  merchant,  "  we'll  say 
nothing.  Study  the  interest  of  the  house,  and  that  will  be 
enough.  I  will  send  a  messenger  up  with  a  note  to  Mrs.  Towns- 
end  to  prepare  her  for  your  coming,  and  you  can  remove  your 
trunks  up  and  take  possession  of  your  room  any  time  after  two 
o'clock." 

Samuel  bowed.  His  simple  heart  was  full.  He  could  not 
speak. 

"You  will  find  your  mate  in  the  gingham  department,"  con- 


68  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

tinned  the  merchant,  whose  keen  eye  divined  the  nature  of  the 
young  man  before  him,  "  a  fellow  after  your  own  heart.  He  is 
clever,  generous,  frank  and  honest;  a  little  given  to  impulse,  but 
full  of  talent.  His  name  is  Gibbs — Charles  Gibbs.  He  is  out 
at  present,  I  see,"  he  added,  glancing  through  the  glazed  parti- 
tition,  "  or  I  would  call  him  and  introduce  you.  It  will  be  all 
the  same,  however,  for  I  will  speak  to  him  on  his  return,  and  let 
him  know  that  you  are  corning." 

"Thank  you,  sir — thank  you  !"  cried  Samuel. 

"  You  can  draw  your  salary  every  week,"  continued  the  mer 
chant,  "  and  thus  keep  yourself  in  spending  money.  By  the 
way,"  he  added,  suddenly  taking  out  his  pocket-book,  with  a 
generous  air,  "  how  are  you  off  for  your  immediate  wants'?  Be 
frank  !'* 

"  I  am  amply  supplied,  sir — many,  many  thanks !" 

"  I  knew  that,  or  I  had  not  asked  him  !"  muttered  the  merchant 
to  himself  as  he  quietly  returned  the  wallet  to  his  pocket. 
"Ah !"  he  said,  aloud,  "  in  that  case,  all  is  well.  But  if  any 
thing  should  turn  up  in  future,  remember  that  we  are  both  sons 
of  old  Enfield,  and  command  me  without  reserve !  And  now, 
my  friend,  shake  hands.  I'll  see  you  at  dinner — if  not,  then  at 
supper !" 

Samuel  withdrew,  and  returned  to  his  hotel,  with  feelings 
which  we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

EVERYTHING  moved  smoothly  with  our  hero.  He  was  received 
by  Mrs.  Townsend  and  her  two  nieces  with  much  cordiality,  and 
his  time  passed  away  pleasantly.  On  Monday  morning,  he 
made  his  appearance  in  the  "gingham  department,"  which  con 
sisted  of  six  little  low  tables,  heaped  with  all  sorts  of  patterns 
two  and  three  feet  deep,  with  occasional  spaces  to  indicate  "  lots 
just  sold"  to  somebody  whose  name  and  local  habitation  were 
matters  of  deep  commercial  mystery. 

The  clerks  stared  furtively  at  the  handsome  new-comer,  and 
whispered  together  very  knowingly,  very  grinningly,  and  very 
mysteriously ;  and  cracked  sundry  jokes  at  his  expense,  all  of 
which  "were  doubtless  very  full  indeed  of  rich,  mirthful  meaning, 
as  each  invariably  elicited  a  smothered  roar,  in  which  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  which  predominated,  the  snicker,  the  giggle,  or 
the  broad  guffaw. 

One — a  young  gentleman  of  twenty,  with  a  very  flashy  vest, 
a  very  flashy  coat,  very  flashy  trowsers,  very  small  patent  leather 
boots,  a  very  high  collar,  which  threatened  every  instant  to  cut 
off  his  very  large  ears — considerately  inquired  of  the  new-comer 
whether  the  fields  were  well  cultivated  up  his  way,  and  if  so, 
whether  the  cabbages  grew  very  big1?  A  second,  equally  as 
witty  as  the  first,  curiously  inquired  whether  there  were  many  in 
his  family,  and  if  so,  whether  their  phrenological  developments 
were  as  well  developed  as  his.  A  third  wanted  to  know  how 
many  hundred  thousands  of  dollars  he  expected  to  sell  in  the 
course  of  the  coming  week,  and  whether  he  had  any  idea  of  the 
price  of  putty  1  A  fourth  had  a  desire  to  learn  how  ginghams 

(M) 


70  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

were — whether  up  or  down,  out  or  in!  A  fifth  wondered 
whether  the  circus  had  ever  passed  through  his  village,  and  if  so, 
whether  he  had  seen  the  elephant1?  A  sixth  asked  him,  with  a 
serious  air,  when  he  designed  to  drive  that  fast  team  out  on  the 
avenue?  A  seventh  thought  it  would  be  cruel  in  him  to  show 
his  handsome  face  on  Broadway,  because  it  might  have  the  effect 
of  breaking  up  ever  so  many  matches  which  were  now  looked 
upon  as  regularly  settled,  as  well  as  tempt  a  great  many  women 
to  snatch  him  up  and  run  off  with  him.  An  eighth  hoped  he 
would  never  set  the  North  River  on  fire,  as  he — Eighth — had  on 
the  Jersey  side  a  whole  lot  of  property,  which,  not  being  insured, 
he  wouldn't  like  to  see  burnt  up.  A  ninth  suggested  that  in 
case  he  should  conclude,  on  the  strength  of  his  first  year's  salary, 
to  run  the  old  house  a  stiff  opposition,  he — Ninth — would  like  a 
situation  at  a  moderate  salary,  say  of  three  thousand  a  year.  A 
tenth  hoped  he  wouldn't  start  an  opposition  to  the  old  house, 
because  in  that  case,  he — Tenth — would  soon  be  out  of  a  situa 
tion.  An  eleventh  had  an  idea  that  he  wasn't  long  for  this 
world,  and  wanted  to  know  if  Second  Gingham — Gibbs  being 
First  Gingham — wouldn't  give  him  some  spiritual  consolation, 
as  he  thought  it  might  help  him  some  in  going  off.  A  twelfth 
hoped  that,  in  case  he  should  sell  out  all  his  ginghams  before  the 
week  was  over,  that  he  would  come  and  give  him  a  lift  in  the 
de  laines,  as  they  wanted  to  be  sold  mighty  bad,  because  they 
disliked  very  much  to  remain  any  longer  in  the  vicinity  of  a 
stick.  A  thirteenth  had  an  idea  that  flats  had  an  advantage  over 
common  people,  because,  when  they  had  made  their  piles,  they 
always  had  a  big  house  to  retire  to — viz. — the  lunatic  asylum. 

And  yet  these  witty  young  gentlemen  were  charitably  sup 
posed  by  their  friends  to  possess  an  average  share  of  intelligence 
and  self-respect,  and  to  thoroughly  understand  the  laws  of  good 
breeding ! 

There  were  two  exceptions,  however,  who  considerately  re- 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  71 

Trained  from  joining  in  the  hue-and-cry  against  "  Second  Ging 
ham"— viz.  First  Gingham,  and  Bill  Bradley,  the  packer. 

Charley  Gibbs— First  Gingham— -was  a  young  fellow  of  twenty- 
three:  moderately  good-looking,  a  little  dressy,  somewhat  simple, 
thoroughly  honest,  slightly  observant,  rather  generous,  exceed 
ingly  impulsive,  and  running  over  with  ideas,  which,  if  not  very 
brilliant,  very  deep,  or  very  original,  were  invariably  very  harm 
less.  He  had  three  pnssions :  first,  "  to  make  old  guardy  disgorge 
that  money ;"  secondly,  "  a  silent  interest  in  some  big  house 
which  would  give  him  a  cozy  living  without  requiring  his  ser 
vices  ;"  and  thirdly,  "  a  cozy  cottage,  with  his  dear  little  Fan, 
who,  poor  thing !  was  dying  herself  to  death  for  him,  all  the 
time." 

Bill  Bradley,  the  packer,  was  a  tall,  gaunt  fellow,  of  about 
twenty-five.  He  had  the  build  and  pluck  of  a  gladiator,  and 
"didn't  turn  his  back  to  no  man  in  packin'.  He  ran  with  ' forty- 
four/  and  allers  stood  up  for  his  number.  When  there's  work  to 
do,  he's  '  around,'  he  is ;  when  the  hall  bell  rings,  he's  on  hand  to 
roll  the  machine  and  put  the  first  stream  on  the  fire.  He  aint 
much  in  the  schoolin'  line,  'cause  he  had  to  go  to  work  in  them 
days ;  but  he  understands  the  four  rules  for  all  that,  and  can 
cipher  'em  up  with  any  man.  To  learnin'  generally  he  don't  make 
the  first  claim  ;  but  he  knows  what's  right,  and  he  aint  afraid  to 
do  it.  He's  down  on  lyin',  cheatin',  and  bullyin' ;  and  any  man 
that's  mean  enough  to  do  either  he  can  lick.  He  don't  owe  no 
man  the  fust  red  ;  and  if  any  man's  got  a  claim  agin  him,  let 
him  step  for'ard  with  his  bill.  He  allers  does  his  duty,  'cause  its 
his  natur,  and  he'll  thank  anybody  to  point  out  to  him  wherein 
he  fails  to  do  it.  He's  down  on  everybody  who's  mean  enough 
to  take  advantage  of  another's  weakness  or  ignorance,  and  what's 
more,  he  can  take  their  hides  off.  He  only  gets  fifteen  dollars  a 
week,  but  he  reckons  he  can  live  on  that,  and  keep  square  with 
the  world,  too.  Does  he  save  money  ?  No,  sir-ee  !  He  j'es 
don't.  How  in  reason  can  he,  and  pay  all  the  bills  as  they  come 


72  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

along  ?  Tell  him  that,  will  you !  How  many  cases  of  goods 
can  he  pack  in  a  day  1  Fifty,  sir — and  strap  'em  all  over,  too. 
If  you've  got  any  packers  down  your  way,  who  think  they  are 
'  some '  in  that  line,  send  'em  along,  and  he'll  give  'em  a  few 
lessons  that'll  make  up  modest!  What  does  he  do  with  his 
fifteen  dollars  1  Do  you  want  to  know  very  pertickler  1  He 
puts  it  in  his  pocket !  Who  was  that  old  lady  that  Tom  Bates 
saw  him  taking  to  church  last  Sunday  night1?  That's  the  blessed- 
est  old  creeter  of  her  age  in  the  country,  sir — yes,  sir,  in  the 
country.  She's  a  dear  old  soul,  and  likes  to  go  to  meetin', 
'cause  it  makes  her  happy.  She  aint  got  her  ekewil  for  goodness, 
bless  her  dear  old  heart !  in  the  world— no,  sir,  not  in  the  world  ! 
Do  I  allers  go  to  church  with  her  1  Yes,  sir  ;  and  glad  to  do  it. 
too !  Why,  sir,  that  dear  old  lady  brought  me  up,  from  the 
time  when  I  was  a  little  toddler  not  half  so  high  as  that  case ; 
and  why  shouldn't  I  be  glad  to  take  her  to  meetin'  so  long  as  it 
makes  her  happy  1  Is  she  my  mother  1  No,  sir,  not  by  natur. 
We  adopted  each  other  when  I  was  one-and-twenty,  and  so  it's 
all  the  same,  sir.  Have  I  got  any  father  1  No,  sir ;  he  died  when 
I  was  a  little  babee,  sir — he  was  a  fireman  and  a  widderer,  and 
got  killed  one  night  at  a  fire.  He  used  to  board  with  the  old 
lady,  and  when  he  got  killed  the  old  lady  took  me  under  her  own. 
protection.  A  noble  act  ?  Yes,  sir-ee  !  It  wasn't  nothin'  shorter. 
She  was  a  poor  woman ;  and  two  years  after,  she  got  burnt  out, 
and  that  made  her  poorer  still.  She  then  took  in  washing  and 
brought  me  up  like  a  gen'leman  till  I  was  ten  years  old,  when 
she  got  the  pallysis — paralysis — in  her  left  shoulder,  and  then  I 
went  to  work  to  help  both  ends  along.  Four  years  after  that, 
the  poor  soul  was  taken  down  to  the  hip,  and  then  I  had  a  chance 
of  showin'  her  what  I  could  do  in  return  for  all  her  kindness. 
From  that  day  to  this,  we  have  got  along  first  rate.  The 
old  soul  is  a  good  manager — very  economical,  and  the  way  she 
can  make  her  one  hand  fly  through  a  new  pair  of  pants,  or  a 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  73 

new  fire  shirt,  which  she  makes  up  for  me  very  often,  sir,  would 
put  Jifeuinto  a  whole  hospital !  Cant't  anything  be  done  for  the 
old  lady's  pallysis1?  Well,  we've  been  tryin'  everything  for  more'n 
ten  years  ;  but  they  haven't  done  much  for  the  old  soul  yet.  But, 
there's  no  knowin' — some'n  may  turn  up.  There's  an  ingeneis 
feller — a  watch-spring  maker — up  our  way,  who's  makin'  a 
merchine  which  he  thinks  '11  cure  it.  But  he  aint  got  it  done  yet ; 
says  he  will,  though,  one  of  these  days,  and  then  we'll  give  it  a 
trial.  How  long  has  he  been  at  if?  About  three  years.  He's 
goin'  to  get  a  patent  out,  when  it's  done,  and  if  it's  the  thing  he 
says  it  is,  it'll  make  his  fortune.  Does  the  old  lady  suffer  much  1 
Guess  you'd  think  so,  sometimes.  But  the  dear  old  soul  says 
she's  so  accustomed  to  it,  she  don't  mind  it :  but  that's  all  put 
on,  you  know,  j'es  to  keep  me  from  grievin' !  What  do  I  think 
of  religion?  I  think  it's  a  good  thing,  'cause  it  makes  my  old 
lady  happy :  anything  that'll  do  that,  in  a  sufferin'  case  like 
hern,  must  be  good.  Least  ways,  I  think  so,  and  I'll  stand  up 
for  it,  no  matter  who's  agin  it.  I  aint  much  of  a  religionist 
myself,  but  I  respect  it,  'cause  Pve  seen  the  blessedness  of  its 
fruits.  One  of  these  days,  pr'aps,  I'll  go  in  for  it,  the  whole 
figur ;  in  the  meantime,  I'll  respect  it,  'cause  there's  no  tellin 
when  the  hall  bell  may  ring  a  poor  fellow's  last  turn-out !" 

Neither  Charley  Gibbs  nor  Bill  Bradley  countenanced  the  pop 
gun  volleys  which  were  discharged  so  mercilessly  at  the  new 
comer  ;  while  the  latter  put  an  effectual  stop  to  it,  in  his  depart 
ment,  at  least,  by  giving  his  assistants  notice  that  if  they  "didn't 
know  no  better  than  to  guy  a  fellow  because  he  was  a  little 
green,  he  'd  take  'em  in  hand  and  learn  'em  beans,  in  short  order. 
They  were  green  themselves — yes,  softer  than  mush — once  ; 
and  they  ought er  remember  it.  If  they  didn't,  he  had  some'n 
would  bring  it  back  to  'em — some'n  he  could  use  /" 

As  his  listeners  understood  very  well  that  Bill  Bradley  never 
talked  this  way  only  when  he  was  in  earnest,  and  as  they  had  a 
4 


74  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 


wholesome  respect  for  the  "  some'n"  to  which  he  so  impres 
sively  alluded,  they  were  careful  thenceforth  how  they  spoke  of 
Second  Gingham  in  his  hearing. 

•  Up  stairs,  however,  there  being  no  Bill  Bradley  to  put  a  stop 
fro  it,  poor  Samuel  endured  for  a  time  all  the  humiliating  morti 
fications  which  little  minds  know  so  well  how  to  inflict  upon 
new-comers,  especially  when  the  latter  are  from  rural  districts 
whose  inhabitants  are  comparatively  ignorant  of  life  and  the 
world.  There  are  bounds,  however,  to  manly  patience  ;  there 
are  limits  when  human  fortitude  yields  to  human  infirmity ; 
there  is  a  point  when  the  "  old  Adam"  of  every  heart  bids  its 
owner  to  stand  up,  manfully  and  strike  a  brave  blow  for  the  dig 
nity  of  poor  human  nature.  That  hour  came  around  at  length 
to  our  hero. 

He  had  been  in  his  new  situation  about  six  weeks,  during  all 
of  which  time  he  had  patiently  submitted  to  the  gibes  and  sneers 
of  his  fellow-clerks,  all  of  whom,  with  the  exception  of  Charley 
Gibbs  and  Bill  Bradley,  as  we  have  already  mentioned,  vied  with 
each  other  in  the  number,  variety,  and  coarseness  of  their  jokes 
upon  Rural  Piety,  as  Thirteen  had  facetiously  styled  the  new 
comer. 

Samuel  bore  with  them  all  good-naturedly,  innocently  suppos 
ing  that  the  witlings  would  get  tired  of  their  sport  by-and-bye, 
and  relinquish  it  of  their  own  accord.  He  was  averse,  both 
from  principle  and  education,  to  checking  it  by  physical  force; 
and  yet  he  had  fears  that  he  would  eventually  be  driven  to  that 
course :  still  he  hoped  not,  and  he  endeavored,  by  refraining 
from  replying  to  their  attacks,  to  escape  the  humiliation  of  a 
quarrel,  which  might  eventuate  in  an  exchange  of  blows. 

But  his  hopes  were  destined  to  disappointment.  The  gibes, 
and  sneers,  and  jokes,  and  tricks  continued  with  undiminished 
vigor.  Nay,  finding  no  resistance  on  the  part  of  their  victim, 
whose  simple,  truthful  nature  became  day  by  day  more  and 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  75 

more  developed,  the  witlings  concluded  to  "  rake  him,"  as  First 
De  Laine  expressed  it,  without  mercy. 

Ever  an  early  riser,  Samuel  was  generally  the  first  at  his  post. 
His  seventh  Monday  came  around.  On  reaching  the  store  at  his 
usual  hour,  he  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  his  fellow-clerks 
assembled  in  full  force.  They  received  him  with  a  politeness 
which  was  as  grateful  as  it  was  novel,  since  it  appeared  to  im 
ply  that  they  had,  either  from  remorse  or  some  other  cause, 
concluded  to  give  over  their  attacks,  and  allow  him  to  attend  to 
his  affairs  in  peace.  He  remembered,  too,  that  on  the  preceding 
Saturday  they  had  annoyed  him  less  than  usual ;  that,  in  fact, 
the  storm  had  settled  down  into  a  comparatively  quiet  calm; 
and  he  innocently  flattered  himself  that  their  hearts  had  at  length 
suggested  to  them  the  wrongfulness  of  their  course. 

Samuel's  dream  of  peace,  however,  was  destined  to  be  speedily 
and  rudely  swept  away.  A  new  mortification  was  in  store  for 
him.  While  on  his  way  through  the  narrow  passage  leading  to 
his  own  department,  his  elbow  struck  against  a  protruding 
"  piece"  forming  one  of  a  pile  of  de  laines,  which  had  been  pre 
viously  so  arranged  that  the  slightest  touch  would  precipitate  the 
whole  to  the  floor.  Samuel  saw  through  the  trick  in  an  instant. 
His  cheek  flushed  indignantly  ;  but  restraining  his  feelings  from 
an  outburst,  he  meekly  and  sorrowfully  picked  up  the  fallen 
pieces,  placed  them  in  a  neat,  compact  heap,  and  then,  with  a 
sigh,  passed  on  to  his  post. 

The  clerks  looked  at  one  another  with  a  knowing  smirk,  which 
seemed  to  say — "  Won't  there  be  fun  by-and-bye  1  Oh,  no  !" 

A  half  hour  passed  by,  during  which  time  the  clerks,  forming 
themselves  into  little  knots  of  twos  and  threes,  conversed  in 
low  tones,  throwing  their  eyes  every  now  and  then  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Rural  Piety,  who  was  leaning  against  one  of  his  tables  in 
an  attitude  of  deep  thought.  It  was  evident  from  their  manner 


76  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

that  they  were  enjoying  something  which  their  active  imagina 
tions  told  them  was  overflowing  with  rare  richness. 

While  the  innocent  young  witlings  were  amusing  themselves 
thus,  another  of  their  number — First  De  Laine  himself — entered 
the  store. 

"  Hurrah,  boys — here  he  is  !"  cried  Second  Broadcloth  to  his 
companions.  "  Now  for  fun !" 

"  Take  care,  Tom,"  said  another,  "  don't  get  mad  now.  Rural 
Piety  couldn't  help  it!" 

"  Couldn't  help  what  ?"  demanded  First  De  Laine,  with  af 
fected  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You're  a  fifer  !"  observed  First  De  Laine,  contemptuously 
as  he  passed  on  to  his  department. 

The  clerks  laughed,  and  looked  towards  Samuel  with  an  air 
which  said — 

"  Won't  you  catch  it,  now  1     Oh,  no  !     Of  course  not !" 

First  De  Laine  was  a  showy  fellow  of  about  twenty-three, 
and  was  made  up  in  the  tawdry  style  of  the  "  fast"  youth  of 
the  metropolis,  who  make  up  in  show  for  what  they  lack  in 
principle.  First  De  Laine  was  regarded  as  a  fine  salesman, 
and  could  spin  out  a  good  round  lie,  in  all  its  delicate  de 
tails,  with  a  dexterity  truly  marvellous.  His  earnings  were 
large  enough  to  enable  him  to  "  drive  a  '  fast'  horse,"  but  too 
small  to  allow  him  to  pay  his  landlady,  and  hence  he  was  contin 
ually  changing  his  boarding-house,  and  "doing"  credulous  wash 
women.  First  De  Laine  was  familiar  with  billiard-rooms,  thea 
tres,  and  sparring-cribs,  and  was  regarded  by  his  fellow-clerks  as 
high  authority  in  everything  pertaining  to  sporting  matters, 
whisky  punches,  and  fancy  things  generally.  He  was  a  regular 
attendant  at  boxing  exhibitions,  and  considered  himself  as 
•*  some"  in  that  line  himself.  Finally,  First  De  Laine  had  a 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  77 

reputation  among  his  fellows  of  being  a  "  high  boy,"  and  "  con- 
siderable  of  a  bruiser." 

This  individual,  on  reaching  his  department,  discovered  that 
some  one  had  been  "  mixing  up  his  patterns,"  and  with  a  loud 
oath  demanded  who  had  been  near  his  tables,  accompanying  the 
inquiry  with  a  look  which  implied  that  he  would  do  something 
very  terrible  indeed  to  the  offender. 

On  hearing  the  inquiry,  Samuel  at  once  replied — 

"  I  think,  sir,  I  am  the  unfortunate  party.     While — " 

"  You  ?"  thundered  the  other,  interrupting  him  with  a  fierce 
scowl,  which  was  of  course  entirely  assumed,  "  you,  you  double- 
headed  squash ! — you,  was  it  ?  If  you  take  such  a  liberty  again, 
I'll  mash  your  soft  pate  into  buttermilk  !" 

"  I  had  no  intention,  sir,"  returned  Samuel,  coloring  to  his 
temples,  "  of—1' 

At  this  instant  his  voice  was  drowned  amid  a  loud,  simulta 
neous  roar,  in  which  "  Go  it,  Tom,"  "  Pitch  in  to  the  country 
lout,"  "Let  him  have  it,"  "Show  him  beans,  Tom,"  "Drop  the 
smooth-faced  hypocrite,"  "  Give  him  a  sweetener  in  the  gills," 
mingled  with  deafening  hoots,  and  yells,  and  cat-calls,  went  up 
from  all  parts  of  the  store. 

The  simultaneousness  of  the  tumult  took  our  hero  somewhat 
by  surprise.  He  saw  in  an  instant  that  the  calm  of  Saturday 
was  a  mere  blind,  that  the  incident  of  the  falling  of  the  de  laines 
was  a  planned  thing,  that  the  anger  of  First  De  Laine  himself  was 
altogether  put  on,  and  that  his  fellow-clerks  had  no  disposition  to 
let  him  up.  The  coarse  language,  too,  of  the  "  fast"  young  man 
was  in  itself  of  so  provoking  a  character,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if 
he  to  whom  it  was  addressed  felt  for  a  few  moments  that  there 
are  seasons  when  the  gentleness  of  the  Christian  can  only  be  sus 
tained  by  the  firmness  of  the  man. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  grasping  the  fast  gentleman  firmly  by  the  col 
lar,  and  looking  him  boldly  in  the  eye,  "  you  owe  it  to  yourself 


78  WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

and  to  me  to  take  back  every  word  that  you  have  uttered.-  Do 
you  hear  me,  sir — every  word  !" 

"  Take  your  hand  from  off  my  collar,  fool  1"  cried  the  fast 
gentleman,  rolling  up  his  cuffs  like  one  who  intended  to  make  an 
example  of  somebody,  "  take  your  hand  from  off  my  collar,  or 
I'll  drop  you  !" 

Samuel's  grasp  tightened ;  his  eye  was  slowly  kindling,  and 
an  expression  of  resentment  was  gathering  around  his  firm  lips. 
An  indignant  glow  suffused  his  countenance  from  the  chin  to  the 
temples. 

"You  have  forced  me  to  this,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  you  shall 
abide  the  consequences.  Come,  sir,"  he  added,  dragging  the 
struggling  fast  gentleman  down  the  passage  towards  the  large 
space  between  the  counters  and  the  doors  leading  to  the  street, 
"  your  desire  shall  be  gratified.  Come,  sir — come  with  me  to  a 
spot  where  we  can  turn  around !" 

"  Let  me  go !  Take  off  your  hand,  or  I'll  mash  you  into 
mince-meat !"  cried  First  De  Laine,  struggling,  but  vainly,  to  re 
lease  himself.  "  Let  me  go,  I  tell  you  !" 

"  Come,  sir — come !"  said  the  aroused  Samuel,  firmly,  and 
dragging  him  along  as  if  he  were  a  mere  infant. 

"  Let  me  go,  will  you  1  Let  me  go,  I  say  !"  continued  the 
fast  young  man,  striking  at  him  blindly,  but  without  making  any 
more  impression  upon  his  nerve-strung  opponent  than  if  his  blows 
had  been  turned  against  a  rock.  "  Let  me  go  !" 

"  Come,  sir — come  !" 

"  Let  me  go,  will  you  1     Let  me  go,  I  say  !" 

They  had  now  reached  the  end  of  the  passage,  and  were,  so  to 
speak,  in  an  open  field. 

Samuel  instantly  grasped  the  fast  gentleman  by  the  shoulder, 
and  looking  at  him  sternly,  said — 

"  Now,  sir,  one  word  before  we  proceed  further.  You  have 
made  use  of  language  which  may  be  natural  to  men  of  your 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  79 

stamp,  but  it  is  not  of  a  kind  to  which  I  am  accustomed,  or  to 
which  I  will  submit.  Take  it  back,  sir — take  it  back — every 
word,  or  I  will  treat  you  as  I  would  a  mad  dog !" 

"  I'll  see  you—" 

Before  he  could  complete  the  sentence,  before  he  could  lift  a 
finger,  Samuel  caught  him  by  the  body — between  the  breast  and 
the  hips — lifted  him  up  as  if  he  were  a  feather,  shook  him  like  a 
quivering  aspen,  and  then  set  him  down,  pale,  helpless,  and  ex 
hausted,  upon  the  floor. 

"There,  sir!  sit  there,  till  you  are  favored  with  manlier 
thoughts  and  a  cleaner  tongue !" 

With  these  words,  he  turned  from  the  spot,  and,  with  a  calm, 
dignified  step,  retraced  his  way  back  to  his  department. 

Bill  Bradley,  who  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene,  now 
approached  First  De  Laine,  whose  head  was  bowed  upon  his 
breast  with  an  air  of  abject  humiliation,  and  looked  down  upon 
him  for  a  few  moments  as  upon  something  equally  amusing  and 
offensive. 

Then  bending  his  tall  form,  he  caught  the  defeated  individual 
by  the  collar,  and  raised  him  to  his  feet,  saying — 

"  Well,  ole  boy,  you  are  a  pretty  one,  aint  you,  now  1  Ah  ! 
go  'long — you  make  me  sick  !  Come,  propel !" 

And  to  expedite  the  worthy  fast  youth's  progress,  he  favored 
him  with  a  gentle  tap  behind,  as  a  father  might  spank  an  unruly 
child,  and  then  turned  from  him  in  contempt. 

First  De  Laine  glared  at  him  for  an  instant,  as  if  he  meant 
to  resent  the  indignity ;  but  a  single  glance  at  the  manly  pro 
portions  of  the  packer  brought  him  to  another  conclusion,  and 
he  returned  to  his  tables,  his  cheek  white  with  mingled  shame, 
bitterness,  and  rage. 

The  effect  of  Samuel's  conduct  in  the  affair  was  electrical. 
From  the  moment  when  he  first  laid  his  firm  hand  upon  the 
collar  of  the  fast  young  gentleman  to  that  when  he  had  closed 


80  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

his  account  with  that  individual,  his  fellow-clerks — who  beheld  his 
resistance  with  as  much  interest  as  surprise — preserved,  as  if  with 
common  consent,  a  deep  silence,  for  the  double  purpose-of  catching 
and  enjoying  every  word  of  the  combatants,  as  well  as  of  witness 
ing  their  movements  without  interruption.  The  result  of  the 
contest  was  so  different  from  that  which  had  been  looked  for — 
they  having  regarded  Samuel  as  a  "  milk-and-water  genius,"  and 
First  De  Laine  as  a  "  sporting  gent,"  and  therefore  a  "  danger 
ous  customer" — that  their  'sympathies  turned  with  the  change ; 
and  as  the  victor  returned  to  his  ginghams,  they  testified  their 
admiration  of  his  course,  or  rather  of  his  spirit,  by  three  hearty, 
generous  cheers. 

Not  content  with  this,  they  crowded  around  him  with  their 
congratulations,  and  vied  with  each  other  for  the  pleasure  of 
taking  him  by  the  hand.  "  Bravo,  Greeny" — cried  one,  "  you  are 
a  trump,  after  all !"  .  "  Give  us  your  hand,  old  boy,"  said  another, 
"I  like  your  pluck."  "Good,  Gingham,"  said  a  third,  "you've 
got  the  right  stuff  in  you — you  have,  and  blame  my  buttons, 
if  you  didn't  serve  him  just  about  right."  „  "  Hurrah !"  exclaimed 
a  fourth,  4'tip  us  your  maulers — you  are  one  of  'em,  and  no 
mistake.  If  you  didn't  give  it  to  him  pooty,  I  wouldn't  say  so." 
"Hey,  Gingham,"  joined  in  a  fifth,  "you're  the  boy  for  my 
money.  I'll  bet  high  on  you.  You're  game  up  to  the  hub.  Lay 
it  there,  ole  feller  !"  he  added,  as  he  extended  his  open  palm  to 
the  victor. 

Samuel  submitted  passively  to  their  felicitations ;  and  as  they 
returned  to  their  respective  departments,  he  bowed  his  head  in 
thought. 

"  You  appear  disturbed,"  remarked  a  voice  near  him. 

Samuel  looked  up,  and  beheld  the  mild,  pleasant  face  of 
Charley  Gibbs. 

"  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself,"  returned  Samuel.     "  I  have  done 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  81 

that  for  which  I  should  weep :  I  have  disobeyed  the  Divine  in 
junction  :  '  When  ye  are  reviled,  revile  not  again.' " 

"  O  come,  come,  Samuel,  don't  give  way  to  that  notion.  It 
won't  do  in  this  every -day  world." 

"  For  what  world  will  it  do  ?" 

"  For  heaven,  I  suppose,"  said  Charley  Gibbs,  who  was  rather 
taken  aback  at  the  question. 

"  For  heaven  1     There  are  no  revilers  there." 

"  I  presume,"  said  Charley  Gibbs,  "  it  is  meant  for  us,  but  I 
don't  see  how  a  man  can  carry  it  out,  unless  he  is  willing  to  be 
kicked  from  world's  end  to  world's  end.  I  know  one  thing, 
however,  and  that  is,  very  few  attempt  to  comply  with  it." 

"  That  should  not  govern  me,  Charley." 

"  Very  true.  But  in  that  case,  men  will  say  you  have  no 
spirit — and  they  will  treat  you  with  contempt." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  be  regarded  as  a  person  of  spirit." 

"  I  know  that,  Samuel ;  but  you  mustn't  be  too  mild,  either. 
It  won't  do.  Men,  who  are  naturally  bullies,  will  take  advan 
tage  of  it,  and  serve  you  like  a  dog,  just  to  show  their  own 
spirit.  My  parents  brought  me  up  just  so,  too ;  but  when  I 
mingled  with  the  world,  I  soon  found  that  it  wouldn't  answer. 
Now,  just  look  at  your  own  case.  So  long  as  the  clerks  thought 
you  a  non-resistant — one  who  would  patiently  endure  every 
thing,  they  put  it  to  you  strong;  but  the  moment  they  find 
you  will  resist,  then  they  fawn  upon  you,  and  tell  you  you  are 
a  good  fellow.  That  is  the  world,  Samuel.  It  don't  relish 
meekness,  because  it  savors  of  goodness  ;  but  it  does  relish  pluck, 
because  it  savors  of  its  own  brutal  nature.  And  this  gives  me 
an  idea." 

"AhT 

"  Yes.  If  you  want  to  be  respected,  you  must  get  into  an 
occasional  fight,  to  let  the  world  know  you  are  a  man  of  spirit ; 


82  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

then  you  will  be  admired :  otherwise  it  will  regard  you  as  a 
spooney,  and  treat  you  accordingly." 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  to  be  thought  a  man  of  spirit." 

"  That  makes  no  difference  at  all,"  said  Charley  Gibbs.  "  Even 
in  a  career  of  gentleness,  you  cannot  succeed  without  a  previous 
reputation  for  pluck.  For  instance :  Two  men  of  equal  piety 
set  out  in  doing  good.  The  one  is  uniformly  meek,  gentle,  and 
dove-like,  and  we'll  say,  timorous  as  well.  He  goes  among  his 
friends  and  makes  an  earnest  effort  to  rejieve  their  temporal 
wants,  and  to  lead  them  spiritually  aright.  They  listen  to  his 
counsels,  they  partake  of  his  benevolence,  but  they  pay  no  heed 
to  either.  Why  1  Because  they  know  him  to  be  a  weakling  ! 
Let  him  go  out  among  strangers,  where  his  lack  of  physical 
courage  is  unknown,  and  moral  force  will  follow  his  benevolence 
and  his  preaching  until  his  timidity  is  discovered.  Then  his 
influence  vanishes  like  magic ;  the  moral  force  which  accompanied 
his  labors  dies  out,  and'  the  man  himself  is  a  nullity  from  that 
hour.  Why  1  Because  there  is,  in  the  minds  of  men,  no  moral 
force  in  timidity.  The  other  goes  on  a  similar  errand ;  and 
there  is  a  double  power,  a  doubly  moral  force  in  his  benevolence 
and  in  his  pious  teachings.  When  he  puts  on  the  garments  of 
meekness,  the  effect  is  deep,  stirring,  and  wholesome.  Why  ? 
Because  the  man  himself  is  bold,  brave,  intrepid,  and — they 
know  it.  He  is  meek  from  principle,  not  necessity,  and  they 
respect  both  the  man  and  the  principle.  '  He  could  be  brave,' 
they  say  to  themselves,  '  but  voluntarily  is  meek.'  That  settles 
them;  and  admiration  of  the  man  leads  them  to  an  honest  admi 
ration  of  his  principle.  That  is  why  he  is  successful.  The  man 
first,  the  principle  afterwards !" 

"  The  Bible  teaches  no  such  doctrine  as  that." 

**  No.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  human  nature.  I  discovered  it 
some  time  ago,"  said  Charley  Gibbs,  "  and  it  suggested  to  me 
an  idea." 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  83 

«  Indeed !" 

"  Yes.  You  see  I  am  myself  naturally  of  a  timid,  retiring 
nature.  I  detest  violence,  and  have  no  sympathy  with  brutality. 
I  like  to  see  everything  harmonious,  and  everybody  gentle. 
The  sight  of  two  men  quarrelling  or  hitting  each  other  makes 
me  nervous,  and  I  feel  like  running  away,  lest  I  should  myself 
get  mixed  up  in  it,  and  somebody  should  hit  me.  This  consti 
tutional  weakness  came  to  the  knowledge  of  my  guardian,  who 
imputed  it  to  cowardice,  and  he  flattered  himself  he  could  easily 
do  me  out  of  my  property,  as  I  would  be  too  timid  to  fight 
for  my  rights.  This  reached  my  ears,  and  it  gave  me  an  idea." 

"  Ah  !     You  appear  to  have  a  great  many  ideas,  Charley  !" 

"I  think,"  said  Charley  Gibbs  modestly,  "I  can  flatter  myself 
a  little  in  that  way.  You  see,  Samuel,"  he  continued,  with  an 
air  of  innocent  simplicity,  which  would  have  elicited  a  smile  from 
any  other  than  the  ingenuous  mind  before  him,  "  I  have  been 
favored  with  large  intellectual  faculties.  The  phrenologists  tell 
me  they  are  a  great  deal  larger  than  common.  My  ideality, 
for  instance,  is  higher  than  seven." 

" Indeed  T 

"  Yes,  And  that  accounts  for  the  rapid  flow  of  my  ideas.  I 
write  poems  occasionally  for  the  newspapers  and  magazines ; 
and  every  line  has  an  idea." 

"  And  do  they  accept  them  V  asked  Samuel,  innocently. 

"  Oh — yes,  in  some  instances." 

"And  publish  them ?" 

Charley  Gibbs  hesitated.  He  didn't  like  the  question.  He 
looked  Samuel  steadily  in  the  eye,  as  if  he  suspected  some  hid 
den  meaning,  or  some  satirical  thought.  But  he  was  soon  satis 
fied  that  his  interlocutor  had  put  the  interrogatory  in  perfect 
simplicity  and  good  faith,  and  he  said,  not,  however,  without  a 
slight  blush — 

"  I  cannot  say  that  they  have  published  any  of  them  yet ;  but 


84:  WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

they  evidently  mean  to,  or  they  would  return  them.  They  are 
keeping  them,  I  presume,  in  reserve,  to  be  used  at  the  first  op 
portunity.  You  see  editors  are  perfectly  flooded,  every  day, 
with  communications  from  all  parts  of  the  continent,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  get  them  all  in  at  once.  Every  accepted  article  is 
placed  on  file,  and  has  to  wait  its  turn  for  insertion,  so  the  edit 
ors  tell  me  :  and  that  is  the  reason  why  none  of  mine  have  yet 
appeared.  But  I  have  copies  of  them  at  home,  and  I'll  lend  you 
a  manuscript  volume  of  them  with  pleasure." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  read  them,"  said  Samuel,  naively. 

"  Thank  you.  I'll  bring  the  volume  to  you  to-night,"  s.aid 
the  delighted  Charley,  who  now  felt  sure  of  at  least  one  reader. 

"  It  will  be  too  much  trouble — " 

"  Oh,  no— no  trouble  at  all,"  said  Charley  Gibbs.  "  I'll  take 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  spend  the  evening  with  you." 

Samuel  was  very  grateful,  and  told  him  so. 

Charley  Gibbs  bowed,  and  then  Samuel  wanted  to  know  what 
his  idea  was. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Charley.  "The  moment  I  learned 
guardy's  notion,  I  concluded  to  show  him  that  he  was  laboring 
under  a  mistake  in  regard  to  his  man.  So  I  went  to  a  boxing- 
master,  who  gave  me  some  lessons,  and  then  I  picked  a  quarrel 
with  the  old  fellow's  son,  who  deserved  a  thrashing  for  trying  to 
cut  me  out  with  a  certain  young  lady  who  is  devoted  to  me,  and 
to  whom  I  am  engaged,  and  1  gave  him  the  finest  flogging  he 
ever  had  in  his  life.  The  fellow  told  his  father,  of  course — I 
knew  he  would — and  it  rather  startled  the  old  gentleman's  cal 
culations.  He  found  I  could  fight  when  occasion  called  for  it, 
and  it  made  Jiim  a  little  more  civil." 

"Did  he  give  up  the  property1?"  asked  Samuel,  with  his 
usual  simplicity. 

"  No  ;  but  it  made  him  respectful  towards  me,  and  that  was 
something.  Finding  that  it  worked  so  well,  I  made  it  a  point, 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  85 


for  a  year  or  two  afterwards,  to  get  up  a  quarrel  with  his  son 
every  time  I  met  him ;  and  as  I  invariably  flogged  him,  and  as 
it  invariably  reached  the  old  gentleman's  ears,  the  consequences 
were  as  happy  as  could  be  expected." 

"  The  old  gentleman  relinquished  you  the  property  7" 

"  JVb ;  but  it  made  him  excessively  respectful,  whenever  I 
called  upon  him  for  money,  which  he  forked  over  without  grum 
bling  :  a  thing  he  never  did  before." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"  Crafty  as  a  lynx,  and  avaricious  as  a  Jew.  But  I'll  make  him 
disgorge  the  whole  of  it  yet,  keen  as  he  is ;  and  then  I  mean  to 
marry  my  Fan,  who,  dear  little  thing,  is  crying  herself  to  death 
for  me  all  the  time,  and  buy  a  silent  interest  in  some  big  dry 
goods  house,  which  will  allow  me  a  cozy  living  without  requiring 
my  services." 

"Have  you  taken  any  active  steps  in  the  matter1?"  asked 
Samuel. 

"  Yes.  I've  put  it  into  the  hands  of  my  lawyer,  who  says  he 
will  recover  every  cent  of  it  for  me.  The  old  gentleman  is  a 
sharp  old  fox,  and  gives  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble ;  but  my 
lawyer  tells  me  he  will  settle  him  to  his  satisfaction,  and  mine, 
too.  Every  time  I  see  him—" 

"Whol" 

"  My  lawyer,  of  course — he  tells  me  things  are  going  swim 
mingly  ;  and  as  he  has  been  saying  the  same  thing  for  nearly  a 
year,  the  matter  must  be  rapidly  drawing  to  •  a  head,  and  old 
guardy  will  have  to  disgorge.  Hey  !  won't  that  be  fine  ?-" 

"  Capital !"  returned  Samuel.  LB . 

"  And  then,"  said  Charley  Gibbs,  his  sanguine  eye  lighting  up 
with  his  prospective  happiness,  "  hurrah  for  a  cozy  cottage  with 
my  Fan,  and  a  silent  interest  in  some  big  house,  like  that  which 
Mr.  Crittenden  has  in  this.  Won't  I  have  jolly  times,  then  ? 
Oh,  no— not  at  all !" 


86  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  You  mentioned  a  Mr.  Crittenden,"  said  Samuel.  "  Who  is 
he?" 

"  He  is  the  silent  partner  in  our  house." 

"  In  this— in  Mr.  Townsend's  V 

"  Yes.     Didn't  you  know  it  1" 

"  No.     What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?"  asked  Samuel. 

"  What  do  you  mean — in  his  business  abilities,  or  in  his 
appearance  1n 

"  In  his  appearance." 

"  Tall,  well  made,  Roman  head,  dark  hair,  black  eyes,  con 
sumptive  complexion,  very  intellectual,  sarcastic  lips,  small, 
pearly  teeth,  and  keen  as  a  hawk  ;  dresses  in  black,  very  gentle 
manly  in  his  manner,  aged  about  forty,  and  is  a  bachelor ;  knows 
business  and  human  nature  like  a  book,  and  can  whittle  common 
men  down  into  little  less  than  nothing  any  time  within  two  sec 
onds  and  a  half.  Hates  everything  in  the  shape  of  drudgery  or 
confinement,  and  spends,  therefore,  the  most  of  his  time  in  trav 
elling,  which  suits  him  to  a  T,  as  it  enables  him  to  combine  busi 
ness  with  pleasure.  Earely  home  oftener  than  four  times  a 
year,  and  then  seldom  more  than  a  week  at  a  time.  Was  here 
yesterday — didn't  you  see  him  T' 

"  No  ;  at  what  hour  7" 

"Two." 

"  Just  when  I  was  out !     Efow  long  did  he  stay  ?" 

"  An  hour  or  so." 

"  Then  he  left  without  my  seeing  him  !" 

...  "  And  no  wonder.  It  is  his  way.  He  glides  in  and  out  with 
out  making  noise  enough  to  disturb  a  cat — a  habit  of  his.  But, 
now  I  remember,  you  were  engaged  with  a  customer  at  the  time 
he  was  leaving,  or  you  would  probably  have  seen  him." 

"  What  is  his  first  name  7" 

"  Robert." 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  87 

Samuel  opened  his  pocket-book,  and  taking  out  a  card,  handed 
it  to  his  companion. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  get  this  ?"  asked  the  latter,  in  surprise. 

"  From  himself,  I  judge,"  returned  Samuel.  "While  on  my 
way  to  New  York,  I  met,  in  the  cars,  a  gentleman  answering  to 
his  description.  He  left  the  train  at  Utica,  and  just  before 
taking  his  departure,  he  gave  me  his  card." 

"  It  was  Mr.  Crittenden,  indeed,"  remarked  Charley  Gibbs ; 
"  for  this  is  his  signature,  and  he  always  has  his  sign-manual 
printed  on  his  cards.  But  here  comes  one  of  my  customers,  and 
I  must  attend  to  him.  Excuse  me !" 

Charley  Gibbs  hurried  off,  and  Samuel  returned  the  card  to 
his  pocket-book,  with  a  sigh. 

"  What  will  Mr.  Crittenden  think  of  me,"  he  murmured, 
"  when  he  hears  of  my  conduct  in  this  affair — particularly  when 
he  remembers  our  conversation  in  the  cars  1  Lord  help  me !  for 
once  I  have  forgotten  the  Right,  for  once  strayed  away  to  the 
Left.  Lord  help,  pity  and  forgive  me  !" 

Charley  Gibbs  was  right.  Before  the  world  will  allow  a  man 
to  be  meek  and  gentle,  it  first  exacts  an  unmistakable  evidence 
that  he  can  be  a  brute  upon  occasion.  When  it  is  satisfied  upon 
that  point,  it  will  let  him  be  as  meek  as  he  pleases,  and,  if  called 
upon,  it  will  gladly  testify  to  the  sincerity  of  his  humility,  and 
favor  him  with 'all  the  encouragement  he  may  desire. 

Samuel's  inoffensive  gentleness  before  his  quarrel  was  as  noth 
ing.  Its  only  effect  was  to  call  forth  persecution  and  ridicule ; 
but  his  inoffensive  gentleness  after  the  quarrel  was  altogether 
another  affair.  That  stamped  it  with  legitimacy,  gave  it  a  moral 
force  which  no  one  felt  an  inclination  to  dispute,  and  furnished 
Samuel  himself  with  a  carte  blanche  to  be  as  gentle,  pious,  and 
simple  as  he  liked,  without  let  or  hindrance. 

From  the  moment  of  his  victory,  the  clerks  abandoned  their 
annoyances  against  him  at  once  and  forever.  From  being  their 


88  WHICH  :  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

butt,  he  was  thenceforth  their  favorite ;  and  all  were  glad  to  own 
him  for  their  friend. 

So  much  for  a  "  becoming  spirit"  on  occasion.  But  it  was  an 
unfortunate  hour  for  that  self-important  individual,  First  De 
Laine.  With  his  defeat  departed  all  of  his  little  greatness.  In 
proportion  as  Samuel's  popularity  went  up,  that  of  the  fast  youth 
went  down.  In  his  own  chaste  phraseology,  from  being  "  some," 
he  was  "  no  whar ;"  and  ere  two  months  passed  away,  he  found  it 
convenient — to  use  his  own  choice  language  again — to  "  propel" 
to  another  city,  where  his  talents  would  enable  him  to  "  blaze" 
again  in  all  his  ancient  splendor. 

Samuel  beheld  him  depart  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"  Would  he  but  make  up  and  stay,"  he  thought,  "  how  much 
better  it  would  be  for  himself,  for  me,  and  for  us  all !" 

But  no;  the  fast  gentleman  was  "none  of  that  sort.  He 
would  neither  forgive  nor  forget."  With  this  sentiment  on  his  lips, 
he  turned  his  footsteps  towards  Boston,  wrhere  his  business  talents 
being  of  a  positive  order,  he  was  not  long  in  finding  a  respectable 
situation,  at  a  respectable  salary.  His  ambition  to  be  considered 
a  "  blood"  was  in  due  time  fully  gratified.  He  shone,  for  a  season, 
to  his  heart's  content.  His  face  was  a  familiar  one  at  sporting 
clubs,  theatres,  gambling-houses,  brothels,  and  bar-rooms.  He 
dressed  flashier  than  ever,  and  "  sported"  a  fast  horse,  a  flashy 
breastpin,  a  knowing  hat,  a  dashing  imperial,  which  was  carefully 
dyed  every  morning,  an  extensive  variety  of  rings,  and  a  very 
long,  very  heavy,  and  very  showy  watch-chain.  His  "liberal" 
habits,  his  jaunty  air,  and  his  reputation  as  a  "  perfect  blood," 
made  him  as  popular  with  the  sporting  gentry  of  that  city  as 
he  could  wish,  and  he  was  rising  rapidly  in  the  estimation  of 
blacklegs,  rum-sellers,  fighting-men,  brothel-keepers,  and  fancy 
characters  generally,  when  he  was  thrown  from  his  sulky,  while 
racing  with  another  "  perfect  blood"  out  on  the  road.  When 
taken  up  by  the  passers-by,  it  was  discovered  that  his  neck  was 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  89 

broken,  and  that  the  fast  spirit  which,  but  a  few  seconds  before, 
had  tenanted  his  body,  was  gone  to  its  account. 

Samuel  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  his  own  share  in  the 
quarrel.  It  cost  him  many  a  burning  tear,  many  a  bitter  pang. 
Men's  opinions  in  the  matter  had  but  little  influence  upon  him. 
He  weighed  the  whole  transaction  over,  from  beginning  to  end, 
with  a  calm,  conscientious  eye,  and  found  everything  but  com 
fort  in  the  result.  "  When  ye  are  reviled,  revile  not  again," 
loomed  up,  as  in  burning  letters,  continually  before  his  mental 
vision,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  broken  a  part,  at  least,  of  the 
command.  He  knelt  down  in  his  chamber,  and  poured  out  the 
burden  of  his  contrite  heart,  but  when  he  arose  it  was  not  with 
his  usually  joyous  smile :  for  his  prayer  had  not  been  answered. 
Again  and  again — in  the  fresh  hours  of  the  early  morning,  and 
in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night — he  petitioned,  like  a  little 
child,  for  mercy ;  and  in  the  end,  after  a  week  of  mental  suffer 
ing,  the  smile  of  joy  returned  to  his  lip  and  to  his  eye — for  he 
had  received  an  assurance  of  forgiveness  from  his  Heavenly 
Father.  His  prayer  had  been  answered ! 

Thenceforth,  Samuel's  prospects  brightened.  He  passed  from 
the  ginghams  to  the  de  laines,  from  these  to  the  cottons,  and 
from  these  to  the  prints,  with  fair  rapidity,  gaining  a  thorough 
business  knowledge  of  each,  and  gleaning  much  valuable  general 
information,  as  wel],  on  the  way ;  giving  back,  in  return,  to  the 
clerks  in  these  departments  some  few  well-timed  suggestions  on 
a  topic  which  was  of  far  more  importance,  but  which  is  rarely 
brought  up  in  dry  goods,  or  other  houses,  unless  for  ridicule,  or 
for — a  paying  impression.  Thus  he  glided,  like  a  spirit  of  light, 
from  department  to  department,  dropping  better  thoughts  in  each 
than  prevailed  before  his  coming,  and  leaving  an  influence  for 
good  all  along  his  path. 

Now,  with  him  all  things  wore  a  smiling  aspect.  His  letters  to 
Enfield  breathed  a  happy,  tranquil  spirit,  while  those  he  received 


90  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

in  return  filled  him  with  gratitude  and  joy  ;  for  they  told  him 
that  his  friends  were  all  well,  that-  they  still  loved  him,  that  their 
interest  in  his  welfare  was  unabated,  and  that  their  confidence  in 
his  loyalty  to  his  moral  trust  was  unshaken ;  that  his  father,  and 
mother,  and  Aunt  Betsy,  and  little  Joe — who  still  played  his 
old  solitary  tune,  and  always  in  a  lively  strain — were  all  happy 
as  ever ;  that  his  old  scholars,  one  and  all,  sent  him  their  regards, 
and  hoped  they  had  still  a  share  in  his  thoughts ;  that  their 
new  teacher  was  equally  successful  in  guiding  their  little  minds 
aright,  and  in  winning  their  confidence,  their  friendship,  and  their 
love. 

For  all  these  Samuel  was  grateful;  for  these  he  poured  out 
his  gushing  heart  to  the  Ever  Kind. 

"  THOU  hast  stood  by  me  !"  he  murmured.  "  Thou  hast  been 
with  me  all  the  way.  To  Thee  be  all  the  praise !" 

He  was  happy ;  and  to  the  query  of  the  scrutinizing  monitor 
within  him — 

"  Well,  watchman — what  of  the  night  T' 

He  could  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  answer— 

"  ALL  is  WELL  !" 


CHAPTER     VII. 

ON  a  pleasant  evening  in  October,  Mrs.  Townsend  and  her 
two  nieces  were  assembled  in  the  drawing-room.  It  was  one 
of  the  off-nights,  as  they  were  called  in  the  family ;  which  meant 
that  it  was  one  of  the  two  evenings  in  the  week  when  the  gentle 
men — Mr.  Townsend  and  Samuel — were  rarely  at  home,  and 
when,  as  Mrs.  Townsend  herself  expressed  it,  the  ladies  had  the 
house  all  alone  to  themselves. 

Mrs.  Townsend,  whose  large,  clear,  dark,  penetrating  eye  and 
straight  features  pronounced  her  a  woman  of  talent,  contrived  to 
give  to  her  four-and-fifty  years  the  appearance  of  thirty -three  or 
five.  Thus,  for  her  superb  hair,  whose  glorious  profusion  was 
only  equalled  by  its  rich  ebon  gloss,  she  was  indebted  to  a  skil 
ful  wig-maker,  who  had  taken  his  degrees  in  Paris  ;  her  brilliant 
complexion  to  certain  mysterious  cosmetics,  which  were  made 
up  by  her  own  hand,  from  recipes  which  had  been  left  her  as  a 
precious  legacy,  some  thirty  years  before,  by  her  mother — her 
self  a  magnificent  lady  of  forty,  even  in  her  sixty-seventh  year  j 
her  superb  eyebrows  to  one  of  the  same  mysterious  recipes  ; 
her  fine,  pearly  teeth,  to  the  genius  of  an  eminent  Philadelphia 
dentist ;  her  fine  bust  to  a  certain  French  corset-maker ;  her 
noble  figure,  in  part  to  her  dressmaker,  and  in  part  to  her  own 
native  tact;  her  mingled  ease  and  dignity  to  lessons  which  had 
been  given  her  by  her  parent ;  her  active  brain,  partly  to  nature, 
partly  to  education,  and  partly  to  herself;  her  smooth  air  and 
benignant  manner,  to  years  of  careful  study ;  and  her  apparently 
happy,  but  really  miserable  heart,  to  a  long  apprenticeship  to  the 
studied  formalities  and  solemn  hypocrisies  of  the  world.  She 

(91) 


92  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

was  an  actress  of  rare  genius  on  the  stage  of  the  little  sphere  in 
which  she  moved.  She  knew  how  to  smile  and  sigh  in  the 
proper  places.  With  the  serious,  she  was  serious  ;  with  the  gay, 
gay ;  while  with  the  sorrowing,  she  could  drop  tears  as  mournful 
as  their  own.  Her  masterly  acting,  in  all  situations,  deceived  all 
but  her  husband.  The  latter  was  himself  too  cunning  a  player 
to  be  imposed  upon  by  one  of  his  own  profession ;  but  he  could 
not  help  every  now  and  then,  when  his  wife  had  acquitted  her 
self  a  little  better  than  common,  exclaiming,  when  they  were 
alone,  "Ah !  Jane — you  are  a  rare  girl  !"  And  if  the  "  rare 
girl"  sometimes  returned  the  compliment,  "Ah,  John !  you  are 
a  rare  boy  !"  it  was  not  perhaps  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that 
the  precious  pair  understood  one  another  so  well. 

And  yet  this  couple  were  on  the  down-hill  side  of  life ;  were 
drawing  nearer  and  closer,  day  by  day,  to  the  bottom ;  were 
wholly  unprepared  for  the  dark  valley  which  lay  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill ;  were  within  reach  of  safety,  and  yet  put  forth  no  effort 
to  preserve  themselves ;  were  still  as  worldly,  still  as  calculating, 
still  as  hollow,  formal,  and  affected  as  ever ; — were  still  adding, 
day  by  day,  to  the  catalogue  of  moral  frauds  and  delinquencies 
already  scored  against  them.  And  they  knew  it  all !  They  were 
duly  sensible,  also,  that  their  benevolence  was  simply  a  matter  of 
worldly  calculation ;  that  their  piety  was  a  solemn  mockery ; 
that  they  had  voluntarily  thrown  aside  their  great  moral  trusts ; 
and  that  in  their  own  eyes,  as  in  that  of  Him  whom  they  pro 
fessed  to  serve,  they  were  hopeless  bankrupts.  WHY  they  con 
tinued  in  this  perilous  course,  they  never  cared  to  inquire.  Mean 
while  they  went  on  with  their  several  parts,  satisfied  if  they  per 
formed  them  to  the  world's  satisfaction,  and  their  own. 

Isabella  Langdon  was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Townsend's  widowed 
sister,  who  died  when  Isabella  was  in  her  fourteenth  year,  leaving 
her  some  seventy  or  eighty  thousand  dollars  in  real  estate,  which 
was  quite  sufficient  to  secure  her  a  "brilliant  position  in  society," 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  93 

and  to  "  render  her  independent  for  life  " — the  only  points  which 
the  fair  widow,  either  when  living  or  dying,  regarded  as  of  any 
serious  importance.  A  brilliant  position  for  so  small  a  thing  as 
the  soul,  and  an  independence  for  eternity,  never  entered  into 
that  lady's  head  at  all.  Her  dying  injunction  was  in  keeping  with 
her  life  :  "Money  a.nd  position,  my  dear — never  forget  them. 
/  never  forgot  them,  and  I  hope  you  will  not.  Without  them, 
one  is  a  nobody.  Adieu,  dear.  In  a  few  moments  I  shall  be  in 
heaven !" 

And  with  these  words,  her  spirit  entered  upon  its  solemn 
journey. 

Isabella  herself  was  what  a  stranger  would  term  a  glorious 
creature.  She  had  a  fine,  graceful,  showy  head ;  small,  aristo 
cratic  features,  a  dazzling  complexion,  a  commanding  figure, 
small,  delicate  hands,  and  a  princess-like  air,  which  was  partly 
natural,  and  partly  the  result  of  study.  She  had  been  edu 
cated  according  to  the  approved  principles  of  her  aunt,  and  was 
therefore  at  twenty-three  as  formal  as  her  naturally  cold,  selfish, 
and  frivolous  nature  would  permit.  Still  her  native  self-posses 
sion,  coupled  with  her  rare  dissimulating  talent,  enabled  her  to 
assume  a  genial  frankness  and  warm-heartedness  which,  with 
those  who  only  saw  her  abroad,  might  easily  pass  for  genuine. 
At  home,  where  she  was  less  guarded,  she  was,  of  course,  better 
understood ;  but  not  by  all,  even  there.  As  she  presented 
a  brilliant  show  in.  a  drawing-room,  her  society  was  courted  by 
the  ball,  party,  and  converzatione  givers  of  her  "set,"  while  her 
fortune  rendered  her  an  "  object "  to  hosts  of  managing  mothers 
and  young  gentlemen,  -whose  "  kind  attentions  "  were  as  well  un 
derstood  by  the  young  lady  herself  as  by  those  who  so  freely 
tendered  them ! 

As  religion  was  the  mode,  Isabella  was  of  course  a  member  of 
the  Church  ;  and,  when  abroad,  she  lived  up  to  its  formalities 
with  a  carefulness  which  led  to  the  general  supposition  that  she 


94  WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

was  as  "  good  "  as  she  was  beautiful.  Her  "  goodness,"  however, 
did  not  deceive  the  experienced  eye  of  her  pastor,  who  sighed 
over  the  hollowness  of  her  piety,  although,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  he  did  not  deem  it  advisable  to  make  it  a 
matter  of  comment. 

To  Isabella,  religion  was  simply  one  of  the  conventionalisms 
of  society — nothing  more.  She  regarded  it  as  she  did  music, 
dress,  education — a  sort  of  matter-of-course,  which  every  person 
of  consequence  should  know  all  about,  support,  and  be 
come  identified  with,  because  it  was  expected,  and  because  it  was 
the  fashion.  Beyond  this,  religion  was  to  her  a  dead  blank.  Of 
its  superior  richness,  of  its  tender  sweetness,  of  its  solemn  joys, 
of  its  enduring  delights,  of  the  stirring  happiness  which  it  pours 
into  the  soul,  of  the  genuine  pleasure  which  reigns  perpetually  in 
the  hearts  of  the  believing,  and  of  the  bright  future  which  they 
realize  in  part  even  on  earth,  she  knew  nothing,  cared  nothing. 
It  is  true  she  heard  of  them,  every  Sabbath  ;  but  they  fell  on  her 
ear  like  so  many  pretty  sentiments,  which  were  all  very  well  to 
hear  of,  and  to  talk  about,  but  as  of  no  more  absolute  importance 
than  pretty  sentiments  of  any  other  character.  A  sermon  was 
to  her  as  a  lecture,  a  play,  or  a  concert — something  that  worked 
up  the  feelings  a  little,  and  extorted  a  certain  degree  of  admira 
tion.  Thus,  after  listening  to  an  able  discourse,  she  would  ob 
serve — "  What  an  admirable  preacher  Mr.  Engold  is  !  It  really 
does  one  good  to  hear  him !  His  figures  are  so  beautiful,  and 
his  eloquence  so  overpowering  !"  And  this  \vas  all  of  our  fair 
friend's  view  of  religion  !  What  an  "  admirable  preacher"  Mr. 
Engold  was,  indeed ! 

Miriam  Selden  was  Mrs.  Townsend's  only  brother's  only  child. 
Although  orphaned  at  an  early  age,  she  had  never  forgotten  the 
religious  lessons  which  had  been  taught  her  by  her  mother.  Her 
fortune  was  only  about  a  third  as  large  as  that  of  her  cousin,  but 
her  income  more  than  satisfied  the  wants  of  her  gentle,  retiring 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  95 

nature.  In  person,  Miriam  was  small ;  in  appearance,  spiritaelle. 
Her  small  Grecian  features  were  boldly  yet  modestly  defined, 
and  fully  expressed  the  mild  earnestness  and  beauty  of  her  char 
acter.  Her  movements  were  light,  easy,  and  graceful — the 
rustling  of  her  garments  conveying  the  only  sound  of  her  coming 
or  departure.  Her  voice,  which  was  low  and  musical,  was 
rarely  heard.  She  had  a  thoughtful  air,  and  a  pair  of  dark, 
thoughtful  eyes,  whose  clear  depths  were  not  purer  than  her  own 
sinless  spirit. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  the  cousins  were  reading  at  the 
centre-table :  Isabella  running  through  the  still  damp  pages  of  a 
new  novel — Miriam  perusing  the  memoirs  of  a  missionary. 
Mrs.  Townsend,  from  her  seat  on  a  lounge,  was  quietly  observ 
ing  them  both. 

Isabella  at  length  put  aside  her  book,  observing,  at  the  same 
time — 

"  Really,  aunt,  reading  is  a  great  bore !" 

"  I  presume  that  depends  very  much  upon  what  you  are  read 
ing,  my  dear !"  answered  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  How  do  you  find 
your  book,  Mirry  ?" 

"  Very  entertaining,  dear  aunt !"  said  Miriam,  who  understood 
the  query  in  the  light  in  which  it  was  intended,  and  laid  down 
the  volume  accordingly  ;  "  but  not  so  overpowering  that  I  cannot 
relinquish  it  for  a  while." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear !  And  now,  girls,  if  you  have  nothing 
to  urge  against  it,  let  us  have  a  little  cozy  chat !" 

"  Excellent !"  cried  Isabella.  "  Chat  is  one  of  our  sex's  priv 
ileges  ;  and  as  I  am  a  firm  believer  in  woman's  rights,  I  vote  for 
it  with  both  hands !" 

"  And  you,  Mirry  ?" 

"  I  presume  I  must  Toot  be  found  in  the  minority,  aunt !" 

"Very  good.  Then  the  proposition  is  carried  without  a  dis 
senting  voice." 


96  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

Mrs.  Townsend  seated  herself  at  the  centre-table  in  such  a 
position  that  she  could  command  a  full  view  of  the  features  of 
her  companions. 

"Talking  of  woman's  rights,  'Bel,"  she  said,  "  I  have  some 
news  for  you.  Mr.  Jones,  the  grocer,  failed  on  Monday,  and 
ran  away  yesterday,  leaving  his  wife  without  a  dollar  !" 

"  Shocking  !"  exclaimed  Isabella.  "  Why,  it  was  her  money 
that  set  him  up  in  business !" 

"  Exactly  !  And  this  is  the  result  of  her  folly  in  letting  him 
have  the  control  of  her  property,  which  she  should  have  settled 
upon  herself!  I  hope,  my  dears,"  she  added,  "  you  will  remember 
the  lesson  when  you  conclude  to  enter  upon  matrimony." 

But,  aunt,"  said  Miriam,  whose  gentle  nature  led  her  to  look 
hopefully  upon  everything,  "  perhaps  the  poor  gentleman  could 
not  help  failing,  and  has  only  fled,  for  a  time,  to  avoid  the  first 
outbursts  of  his  creditors !" 

"I  think  not,  Mirry.  His  failure,  Mr.  Townsend  tells  me,  is 
a  very  bad  one.  It  bears,  in  fact,  the  evidence  of  premeditation." 

Miriam  cast  her  eyes  down,  sorrowfully,  for  she  remembered 
that  the  fraudulent  bankrupt  was  a  member  of  her  own  church, 
and  that  she  had  always  looked  upon  him  as  a  faithful  follower  of 
the  Prince  of  Righteousness. 

"  How  much  did  he  fail  for  1"  inquired  Isabella. 

"  Two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand,  Mr.  Townsend  tells  me." 

"  Shocking  !     It's  enough  to  give  one  a  sensation  !" 

"  It  did,  my  dear,  to  several ;  but  particularly  to  his  creditors, 
three  of  whom  are  ruined  by  it.  But  it  serves  them  right. 
They  should  have  known  better  than  to  risk  their  business 
positions  upon  the  honesty  of  a  single  man." 

"  Who  are  the  principal  sufferers  ?" 

"  Mr.  Weston,  our  next-door  neighbor,  Mr.  Judson,  the  sugar- 
dealer,  and  Mr.  Lent,  the  tea-importer  :  all  of  whom,  Mr.  Towns- 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  97 

end  tells  me,  will  have  to  '  go  by  the  board,'  as  it  is  termed, 
before  the  week  is  out." 

"  Shocking !  Why,  these  gentlemen  all  have  pews  in  our 
church  !  What  a  time  it  will  create,  when  it  becomes  known  !" 

"  What  will  become  of  their  families,  dear  aunt  1"  inquired 
Miriam,  looking  up,  with  an  expression  of  deep  sympathy. 

"  They  will  return  to  their  original  poverty,  for  all  I  can  see, 
my  dear !"  returned  Mrs.  Townsend,  who  was  struck  with  the 
marked  contrast  in  the  sentiments  of  the  two  cousins. 

"  That,  however,  will  be  no  very  great  hardship,"  remarked 
Isabella.  "  It  will  only  be  going  back  to  an  old  acquaintance." 

"I  fear,"  said  the  gentle  Miriam,  "they  will  find  it  very  pain- 
ful.  Had  they  never  known  affluence,  poverty  could  be  met 
without  a  shudder  ;  but  to  leave  it  once  and  then  be  driven  back 
to  it,  through  no  fault  of  their  own,  must  be  very  hard,  as  well 
as  humiliating !" 

"  I'm  sure,  cousin,"  said  Isabella,  with  a  slight  air  of  virtuous 
indignation,  "  there  is  nothing  humiliating  in  honest  poverty  !" 

"  To  the  already  poor,  no ;  but  they  who  have  known  wealth 
cannot  help  looking  at  it  in  that  light." 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  not  look  upon  it  so !"  returned  her  cousin. 

"  I  hope  you  may  never  be  tried,  dear  cousin.  Poverty  is  a 
sore  tempter !"  replied  Miriam,  generously.  "  But  can  we  not  do 
something  for  these  worthy  people,  aunt  ?" 

"  That  has  already  been  thought  of,  Mirry.  It  is  perhaps  a 
delicate  matter  to  mention,  but  Mr.  Townsend  and  myself  have 
inclosed  a  few  hundreds  to  each  of  them  to  help  them  in  their 
strait." 

An  expression  of  mingled  joy  and  relief  swept  over  Miriam's 
sweet  countenance  at  this  reply. 

"  Dear  aunt !"  she  exclaimed,  taking  her  hand  and  pressing  it 
in  her  own  with  all  the  warmth  of  her  generous  nature,  "  that  is 


5 


98  WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

so  like  you  and  dear  guardy  !  Ah !  you  know  not  how  happy 
you  have  made  me !" 

If  poor  Miriam  had  but  known  that  the  *  few  hundreds"  were 
given  for  the  sole  purpose  of  reaching  the  public  ear,  and  thereby 
adding  to  the  giver's  business  popularity,  she  might  not  have 
been  so  lavish  of  her  thanks.  But  the  simple-hearted  girl,  in. 
common  with  all  the  world,  never  dreamed  of  the  crafty  spirit 
of  her  guardian. 

"  Prav,  don't  mention  it,  Mirry !"  returned  Mrs.  Townsend. 
"  There  is  as  much  pleasure  in  giving  as  in  receiving  ;  and  I  am 
sure  we  ought  to  take  all  the  pleasure  we  can.  Let  me  see :  it 
is  Shakspeare,  is  it  not,  'Bel,  who  says : 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained. 
It  is  twice  blessed :  it  blesseth  him  that  gives, 
And  him  by  whom  it  is  received," 

or  something  to  that  effect !" 

"But  what  has  that  quotation  to  do  with  it,  aunt1?"  inquired 
her  eldest  niece.  "  The  one  alludes  to  benevolence,  and  the 
other  to  mercy.  They  are  not  identical,  I  believe  V 

"  Not  always,  my  dear,  I  grant.  But  in  the  present  instance^ 
they  are  somewhat  allied.  For  with  our  few  hundreds,  Mr. 
Townsend  dispatched,  at  the  same  time,  some  notes  of  Mr. 
Jones's,  which  had  come  into  his  hands  in  the  course  of  busi 
ness,  and  which  bore  the  endorsements  of  some  of  the  ruined 
creditors !" 

"  Oh,  aunt !"  said  Miriam,  "  that  was  generous  in  guardy — 
it  was  noble !" 

"  What  think  you,  'Bel  V 

"  I  agree  with  Mirry,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  was  both  noble 
and  generous !" 

"You  confess,  then,  the  appositeness  of  the  quotation  1" 

"  How  can  I  do  otherwise  ?  The  act  is  enough  to  give  one 
a  sensation.  It  is  really  delightful !" 


"WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  99 

"  When  I  think,"  said  her  aunt,  "  how  Mr.  Townsend  might 
have  pressed  the  payment  of  those  notes,  and  thereby  secured 
himself  from  loss — which,  of  course,  he  had  a  perfect  right  to 
do — and  when  I  think  that  he  has  sacrificed  his  private  interest 
to  that  of  humanity,  I  confess  it  makes  me  love  him,  if  that  were 
possible,  ten  times  deeper  than  ever !" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  be  rewarded  for  it !"  cried  Miriam,  with 
pious  enthusiasm.  "  If  not  here,  certainly  hereafter !" 

"  Too  much  benevolence,  aunt,"  said  her  more  worldly  cousin, 
"  is  as  hurtful  as  too  much  selfishness,  and  it  oftener  leads  to 
misery.  As  for  me,  I  have  no  faith  in  it.  His  liberality  will  be 
the  ruin  of  guardy  some  day  !" 

"  Fear  it  not,"  returned  her  aunt :  "  Mr.  Townsend  knows  how 
to  temper  benevolence  with  judgment !" 

The  exceeding  truthfulness  of  this  observation  was  known 
only  to  the  speaker  herself.  Notwithstanding  its  utterance, 
however,  her  auditors  still  adhered  to  the  idea  which  Isabella 
had  so  naively  expressed. 

"Aunt,"  said  Miriam,  "  you  have  not  yet  given  us  the  par 
ticulars  of  Mr.  Jones's  failure." 

"  I  have  purposely  refrained  from  doing  so,  because  the  details 
are  too  revolting  for  young  minds.  It  is  enough  that  they  dis 
play  unmistakable  evidences  of  a  long-designed  and  successfully 
sustained  fraud,  not  only  against  his  creditors,  but  against  his 
wife,  whom  he  has  left  in  a  position  which  makes  my  heart  bleed 
to  think  of." 

"Dear  aunt,"  cried  Isabella,  "do  give  us  the  particulars.  You 
cannot  fancy  how  I  am  pining  for  a  sensation  !" 

Miriam  was  also  anxious  to  hear  the  particulars,  but  from  a 
very  different  motive. 

"  I  can  do  that  in  a  few  words,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  calmly 
enjoying  her  mental  perusal  of  the  two  natures  before  her.  "  It 
appears  that  Mr.  Jones  had  determined  to  make  the  most  of  his 


100          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

wicked  scheme,  and  with  this  view  he  converted  all  his  business 
availables  into  money.  Not  content  with  this,  he,  under  a 
plea  of  necessity,  persuaded  his  wife,  some  few  weeks  before  his 
failure,  to  sell  their  house,  and  also  to  give  a  mortgage  upon 
their  furniture.  The  notes  obtained  for  the  house,  he  turned 
into  cash ;  the  mortgage  went  the  same  way ;  and  now,  besides 
the  desertion  of  her  husband,  the  unfortunate  woman  has  to 
bewail  the  loss  of  her  very  house  and  furniture.  She  is  literally 
stripped  of  everything,  and  is  without  a  shilling  in  the  world  !" 

"  Mercy  on  me  !"  cried  Isabella.  "  What  a  thrilling  subject 
for  the  newspapers  !  How  the  world  will  stare  when  it  hears 
the  harrowing  details  !  Ugh  !  it  has  given  me  such  a  sensation  ! 
I  shall  not  get  over  it  for  a  month !" 

"  Does  the  unhappy  lady  still  live  in  Bleecker  street,  aunt  ?" 
asked  Miriam. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Townsend,  whose  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  questioner's  tender  nature  enabled  her  to 
comprehend  the  motive  of  the  inquiry,  "  she  disappeared  this 
morning  with  her  child." 

An  expression  of  mingled  sadness  and  disappointment  passed 
over  Miriam's  features,  and  she  dropped  her  eyes,  with  a  low 
sigh. 

"  Of  course,  the  woman  will  not  think  of  showing  herself  at 
our  church  again  !"  remarked  Isabella. 

"  Why  not,  cousin  ?"  timidly  inquired  Miriam.  "  Mr.  Jones 
has  a  pew  there !" 

"  What  an  absurd  question !"  returned  Isabella,  gazing  at  her 
in  astonishment.  "Aunt,  did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so 
stupid  ?" 

"  I  presume  Mrs.  Jones  will  avoid  the  ridicule  which  would 
naturally  follow  such  a  step  !"  replied  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  There,  Mirry  !"  cried  Isabella,  glancing  at  her  cousin  with  an 
air  of  triumph. 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          101 

"I  do  not  see  why  it  should,"  replied  Miriam,  with  modest 
earnestness.  "  Her  claim  to  a  seat  in  her  own  pew  is  perfectly 
legal ;  and  surely  her  husband's  error  ought  not  to  be  laid  upon 
her  shoulders.  Besides,  in  God's  house — " 

"  What  nonsense,  coz'!  You  know  very  well,  that  whether  it 
be  God's  house  or  not,  our  church,  and  every  other  church  that  is 
built  by  rich  people's  money,  is  not  a  place  for  poor  people. 
For  whom  do  we  build  them,  but  ourselves  ?  Let  mechanics 
and  laborers,  and  people  of  their  rank,  associate  with  their  own 
olass.  We  don't  want  them  in  our  way.  I  never  heard  of  any 
thing  so  shabby  in  all  my  life.  It's  enough  to  give  one  a  sensa 
tion  !" 

Miriam  made  no  reply. 

"  I  think,"  observed  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  her  calm,  impressive 
way,  "  there  is  no  danger  of  Mrs.  Jones's  incurring  the  risk  of  gen 
eral  remark  by  showing  herself  at  our  church  in  future.  Her  own 
good  sense  will  tell  her  that !"  Then  turning  to  her  youngest 
niece,  who  was  evidently  suffering  with  some  painful  thought, 
she  added,  "  You  know,  Mirry,  that  the  mingling  of  rich  and  poor 
in  God's  house  is  a  very  pretty  sentiment  to  read  of,  to  talk  of, 
and  all  that ;  but  as  society  is  at  present  constituted,  it  would 
not  do  to  practise :  at  all  events,  it  is  not  practised,  and  that,  as 
you  will  of  course  admit,  is  equally  to  the  point." 

"  Fancy,  for  instance,"  said  Isabella,  in  a  tone  of  triumphant 
mockery,  "a  greasy  mechanic,  and  his  vulgar  calicoed  wife, 
stalking,  in  all  the  consequence  of  their  Sunday-go-to-meetings, 
along  the  carpeted  isles  of  our  church,  seating  themselves  upon 
our  velveted  cushions,  and  looking  coolly  around  at  our  satins, 
jewels,  and  irreproachable  broadcloths !  What  a  sensation  it 
would  make  !  I  do  not  believe  our  dear  minister  himself  could 
realize  that  he  was  in  his  own  church.  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't !" 

"  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  our  minister  to  believe  any 
such  thought  would  enter  his  mind  !"  returned  Miriam,  gently. 


102          WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  It  does  not  follow  because  he  is  the  pastor  of  an  aristocratic 
congregation,  that  he  shares  in  the  aristocratic  sentiments  of  his 
people !" 

"  What  sublime  simplicity !  Why,  coz,  it  is  positively  amus 
ing  to  hear  you !" 

Miriam  neither  quailed  nor  blushed  at  this  impudent  outburst. 
Still,  her  features  showed  how  deeply  she  was  pained  at  the 
remark. 

"  'Bel !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  you  are  too  harsh,  and  Mirry 
too  gentle.  You  must  both  permit  me  to  explain  the  consistency 
of  our  '  exclusiveness.'  Aristocracy  reigns  in  everything ;  that 
is  to  say,  everything  is  graduated,  in  the  natural  as  in  the  artificial 
world.  This  aristocracy  is  governed  wholly  by  the  universal  law 
of  Inferiority  and  Superiority  ;  which  means  that  the  superior  is 
better  than  the  inferior — all  of  which  is  true,  whatever  may  be 
said  to  the  contrary.  For  instance,  Honesty  is  an  aristocrat, 
because  it  is  the  superior  of  Dishonesty ;  and  however  charitable 
and  kindly  may  be  "his  sentiments,  Honesty  would  revolt  at 
placing  himself  on  an  equal  footing,  morally  or  socially,  with 
Dishonesty.  Hence,  from  every  point  of  view,  Honesty  is  a 
better  man  than  Dishonesty.  The  artist  who  paints  a  perfect 
picture  is  the  superior  of  him  who  paints  an  imperfect  one,  and 
he  would  shrink  instinctively  from  associating  or  placing  himself 
on  a  level  with  one  so  far  inferior  to  himself;  and  very  justly, 
too,  because  positive  merit  is  the  natural  superior  of  negative  or 
questionable  merit.  A  gentleman  is,  for  the  same  reason,  the 
superior  of  the  commoner,  because  his  position  in  the  world  is 
higher ;  and  he  could  not  consent  to  place  himself  on  a  level 
with  that  commoner,  because  society  has  lifted  him  above  him. 
To  associate  with  the  commoner,  would  be  as  revolting  to  his 
tastes  and  habits,  as  to  his  feelings.  There  is  nothing  in  com 
mon  between  them  ;  and  consequently,  to  put  them  upon  a  level, 
would  be  to  perpetrate  an  outrage  upon  the  broad  law  which 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  103 

governs  nature  and  society.  Gold  is  better  than  copper,  than 
iron,  than  brass.  Refinement  is  better  than  coarseness;  Intellect 
better  than  Ignorance ;  Strength  better  than  Weakness  ;  Modesty 
better  than  Brazenness ;  Elegance  better  than  Roughness ;  Wealth 
better  than  Poverty.  This  law  is  universal ;  and  since  it  governs 
the  world,  it  is  idle  to  pronounce  it  unjust." 

This  was  delivered  with  so  oracular  an  air,  and  it  was  so  subtly 
interlarded  with  spe'ciousness  and  truth,  that  it  was  no  wonder 
that  poor  gentle  Miriam  bowed  her  head  in  utter  bewilderment. 

"And  for  that  reason,"  'continued  her  aunt,  "it  would  be 
utterly  impossible  for  our  pastor,  who  is  himself  a  gentleman,  a 
scholar,  and  an  '  exclusive,'  to  entertain  any  sympathy  for  parties 
whom  nature  and  society  have  united  in  placing  below  him.  Of 
course,  we  do  not  parade  these  views  before  the  world ;  they 
would  have  a  tendency  to  render  us  unpopular.  But  they  are 
perfectly  understood  by  all  intelligent  minds." 

"  There,  coz !"  cried  Isabella,  triumphantly.  "  What  have  you 
got  to  say  for  the  greasy  wretches  now !" 

"  This,  'Bel !"  returned  Miriam,  with  an  expression  of  winning 
sweetness — "  that  the  point  at  issue,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  un 
touched." 

*  "  My  dear  coz,  you  are  entitled  to  the  laurels  of  a  Columbus ! 
The  ground  'has  been  wholly  gone  over — penetrated  to  its  very 
depths — and  yet  it  is  reserved  for  your  brilliant  ladyship  to  dis 
cover  that  it  has  not  been  touched  at  all !  Really,  it  is  as  good 
as  a  play !" 

"  We  must  not  be  too  severe  on  our  dear  Mirry,  'Bel !"  ob 
served  her  aunt.  "  The  saying,  « strike,  but  hear  me,'  is  a  noble 
one.  We  must  give  Mirry  an  opportunity  to  explain  !" 

"  Certainly,  aunt.  We  should  be  generous.  It  is  our  duty 
to  be  so.  There  is  a  text  for  it :  '  He  that  giveth  to  the  poor 
lendeth  to  the  Lord !' " 


104         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Miriam  looked  at  her  cousin  with  mournful  surprise.  Then 
changing  the  expression  into  one  of  entreaty,  she  said — 

"  Please,  'Bel !  don't  speak  of  sacred  things  in  that  way.  It 
pains  me.  Please  don't !" 

"  Well,  then,  coz  !  do  talk  reason.  It  is  perfectly  shocking  to 
hear  how  you  go  on  with  your  simple  nonsense.  So  long  as  we 
are  in  the  world,  we  should  think  as  the  world  thinks,  and  do  as 
the  world  does.  Else  what  is  the  use  of  living  in  it  at  all,  I'd 
like  to  know !" 

"  You  were  saying,  Mirry,  that  the  point  is  left  untouched," 
said  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  Why  7" 

"I  fear  you  will  think  me  over- bold,  dear  aunt,  when  you 
hear  my  reasons,"  replied  Miriam,  timidly ;  "  and  yet,"  she 
added,  with  an  air  of  modest  confusion,  "  it  would  make  me  un 
happy  to  give  up  my  confidence  in  their  truth!" 

"  Go  on,  coz.  Do  let  us  hear  what  you  have  to  advance ' 
Who  knows  but  you  may  yet  favor  us  with  a  sensation  1"  ob 
served  Isabella,  with  a  slight  sneer. 

"  Go  on,  Mirry,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  with  protecting  kindness. 
"  You  may  be  sure  we  shall  receive  your  views  with  all  the  re 
spect  to  which  they  may  be  entitled." 

"I  was  simply  thinking,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  smile  whicn 
mirrored  the  sweetness  of  her  nature,  "  that  society  cannot  con 
trol  the  Church  ;  for  that  exists  wherever  a  single  heart  bends  in 
pious  reverence  to  God.  At  least,  I  have  ever  found  great  com 
fort  in  the  thought,  and  I  would  not  willingly  relinquish  it." 

"And  is  that  all,  Mirry?" 

"  Yes,  aunt.  I  cannot  think  of  any  more  ;  although  I  feel  that 
T  ought  to  say  a  great  deal  more  for  Him  who  gave  His  life  for 
me :  but,"  she  added,  with  an  artlessness  which  well-nigh  pro 
voked  her  auditors  into  a  broad,  vulgar  laugh,  "  I  am  not  capable 
of  saying  much.  If  our  friend  Samuel  were  here,  I  think  he 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          105 

could  explain  my  meaning  better.  He  is  braver  than  I  am, 
and—" 

"I  presume,  coz,"  said  Isabella,  interrupting  her  with  a  sneer, 
'•'  that  you  would  be  very  glad  indeed  to  have  Samuel  explain 
your  meaning.  I  have  no  doubt  he  understands  it !" 

Miriam  glanced  at  her  reproachfully  for  an  instant ;  then,  as 
a  deep  hot  blush  shot  up  to  her  temples,  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  handkerchief,  and  murmuring,  "  Cousin — this  is  cruel !" 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  'Bel !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  a  reproving  tone. 

"  Oh  !  let  her  put  on  her  airs,  aunt !  Who  cares  1  I'm  sure," 
she  added,  in  a  tone  which  Mrs.  Townsend's  practised  ear  rec 
ognized  as  one  of  burning  jealousy,  "  any  one  can  see  how  she 
throws  herself  in  his  way,  and  tries  to  make  Sam — Mr.  Leland, 
I  mean — understand  her!" 

"  Oh,  cousin — cousin !"  cried  Miriam,  her  blushes  burning  her 
like  fire.  "I— I—" 

"  Out  with  it,  do  !"  cried  Isabella,  tauntingly. 

"  'Bel !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  impressively,  "  no  more  of  this. 
It  is  unfair.  These  are  matters  that  should  never  be  alluded  to." 

."  That  depends  upon  circumstances,  aunt.  Cousin  knows  very 
well  that  Mr.  Leland  and  I — " 

She  paused,  suddenly — blushed — and  then  added — 

"  If  Mr.  Leland  sees  fit  to  favor  me  with  his  attentions,  I  am 
not  aware  that  any  one  has  a  right  to  call  him  to  an  account  for 
it  but  myself." 

"  Who  presumes  to  call  him  to  an  account  for  it,  'Bel  1"  in 
quired  her  aunt. 

"  Mirry  !" 

"  I,  cousin  V  cried  Miriam,  looking  up  in  astonishment. 

"  You !"  returned  Isabella,  with  energy.  "  By  your  interfer 
ence,  if  in  nothing  else !" 

"  Cousin—" 

5* 


106  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh,  put  on  your  airs,  and  call  up  your  blushes — do  !" 

"  'Bel !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  this  will  not  do,  my  dear.  You 
forget  yourself!" 

"  Aunt !  permit  me  to  understand  my  own  affairs  best !" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear !"  returned  Mrs.  Townsend,  with  her 
usual  suavity.  "  I  have  no  desire  to  interfere  with  them.  But " 
she  added,  partly  for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  Miriam  from  the 
imperial  beauty's  rage,  and  partly  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  her 
impetuous  niece  into  a  more  lucid  explanation  of  a  matter  which 
had  hitherto  escaped  her  own  penetrating  eye,  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  and  Mr.  Leland  had  had  any  understanding  of  this 
nature.  It  is  perfectly  new  to  me." 

And  the  lady  uttered  what  was  unqualifiedly  true. 

"  Who  spoke  of  any  understanding,  aunt  ?"  returned  Isabella, 
detecting  her  motive.  "  I  simply  referred  to  Mr.  Leland's  atten 
tions.  No  harm  in  that,  I  presume  V 

"  No  harm,  certainly.  A  mere  misapprehension  on  my  part ; 
that  is  all." 

"Am  I  to  blame  for  that ?"  demanded  Isabella,  who  was  now 
rapidly  recovering  her  self-possession. 

"  By  no  means,  'Bel.  But  it  led  me  into  an  error,  notwith 
standing  ;  especially,"  she  continued,  with  a  meaning  smile,  "  when 
I  had,  all  along,  been  under  the  impression  that  your  sentiments 
were  running  in  a  very  different  quarter !" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  aunt !"  said  Isabella,  with  a  blush 
whi^h  was  a  flat  contradiction  of  her  words. 

"  Mr.  Brigham — "  suggested  Mrs.  Townsend,  quietly. 

"  Mr.  Brigham  !"  returned  her  niece,  with  a  haughty  curl  of 
her  proud  lip.  "  Mr.  Brigham,  indeed  !" 

"  I  had  supposed,  my  dear,  that  he  was  an  accepted  admirer," 
said  her  aunt. 

"  Mr.  Brigham  has,  I  doubt  not,  a  strong  admiration  for  my — 
fortune  /"  said  Isabella ;  "  but  I  am  not  aware  that  his  chances  of 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  107 

obtaining  it  are  any  better  now  than  they  were  before  he  honored 
its  owner  with  his  acquaintance !" 

"  'Bel,  you  amaze  me !  Surely,  you  will  not  deny  that  Mr. 
Brigham  entertains  directly  opposite  views  1" 

Mr.  Brigham  is  privileged  to  entertain  whatever  views  he 
pleases,  but  he  will  find  it  difficult  to  impose  them  upon  me !" 

"  Hark !"  said  her  aunt,  raising  her  finger,  warningly.  "  Some 
one  comes !" 

"  Mr.  Brigham  !"  said  a  servant. 

A  moment  later,  and  that  worthy  made  his  appearance. 

Mr.  Brigham  was  a  gentleman  of  some  three  or  fi ve-and-thirty 
years.  He  was  tall,  slender,  and  well-built.  His  hair,  of  a  jet 
black,  contrasted  strongly  with  his  naturally  pale  complexion, 
and  gave  it  a  somewhat  consumptive  tinge.  His  forehead  was 
flat,  and  of  moderate  height ;  the  brows  protruded  heavily  over 
a  pair  of  large,  dark  eyes,  which  were  generally  half  closed,  with 
a  keen  but  thoughtful  air.  His  nose  was  hooked  ;  the  nostrils 
lapped,  like  those  of  a  wild  beast  when  in  repose.  His  lips  were 
small  and  thin,  and  might  have  been  pronounced  handsome,  but 
for  a  crafty  expression  which  lurked,  like  a  shadow,  around  their 
corners.  His  retreating  cKin  was  covered  by  a  short,  black 
beard,  which  always  looked  as  if  it  had  just  been  shortened  by 
a  barber's  shears.  He  wore  a  buff  vest,  with  yellow  buttons, 
and  a  coat  and  pantaloons  of  fine  blue  cloth.  His  small  hands 
were  covered  with  buff  kids ;  his  feet  with  boots  of  patent 
leather.  His  movements  were  easy  and  smooth,  without  being 
graceful.  His  general  air  was  that  of  one  who  understood  him 
self  and  others  also. 

"  Good-evening,  ladies!"  he  said,  with  a  bow  which  was  not 
devoid  of  refinement.  "  I  am  fortunate  in  finding  you  at  home." 

The  ladies  returned  his  salute,  and  Mrs.  Townsend,  with  her 
usual  urbanity,  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"  You  are  very  good  !"  he  said,  seating  himself.     <c  Mr,  Towns- 


108          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

end  is  off  to  prayer-meeting,  I  suppose  1"  Mrs.  Townsend  re 
plied  in  the  affirmative,  and  Mr.  Brigham  added :  "  So  I  im 
agined.  He  neglects  nothing ;  and  yet  he  has  cares  and  duties 
enough,  of  one  kind  and  another,  to  kill  a  dozen  ordinary  men. 
It  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me  how  he  gets  through  them 
all ;  and  yet  they  appear  to  make  no  impression  upon  him.  He 
is  a  wonderful  man  !" 

This  dose  of  flattery  was  meant  for  the  domestic  partner  of 
the  "  wonderful  man."  That  lady  smiled,  and  answered — 

"  Mr.  Townsend  has  an  excellent  constitution,  I  believe." 

"  And  an  excellent  heart,  as  well,"  added  Mr.  Brigham,  with 
a  smile  which  answered  its  design,  viz. :  to  show  two  rows  of 
teeth,  which,  if  not  as  small  as  a  woman's,  were  at  least  as  white 
and  glistening. 

"  That  is  a  charge  which  I  fear  will  never  be  laid  at  Mr.  Brig- 
ham's  door !"  observed  Isabella. 

"  Ah !  you  are  very  good !"  returned  that  gentleman,'  with  the 
tranquil  air  of  one  who  was  accustomed  to  jokes  of  that  nature, 
and  he  added,  with  another  display  of  his  fine  teeth,  "  When  a 
poor  fellow's  heart  is  rudely  torn  from  him  by  an  enchantress, 
he  cannot  expect  to  be  flattered  for  the  vacuum  !" 

"  Mr.  Lelamd !"  said  a  servant. 

And  Samuel  entered  the  drawing-room. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  warmth  with  which  our  hero  was 
received  by  Mrs.  Townsend  and  Isabella.  There  was  a  hearti 
ness  in  it  which  contrasted  strongly  with  that  which  greeted  the 
entrance  of  the  confidential  clerk.  The  latter  quietly  bit  his  lip 
as  he  remarked  it ;  but  he  was  too  shrewd  to  permit  its  effect 
upon  him  to  appear. 

Miriam  was  somewhat  reserved  ;  a  fact  which  the  confidential 
clerk  noticed  also,  and  with  surprise  ;  for  he  had  long  imagined 
that  the  timid  Miriam  had  a  secret  predilection  for  Mr.  Leland. 

"  Something  has  happened !"  he  thought.     "  They  have  had  a 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         109 

rupture,  perhaps.  But  what  does  Isabella  mean  by  her  conduct 
towards  the  religious  simpleton "?  I  must  look  into  this  ;  and  if 
I  find  the  fellow  poaching  upon  my  manor,  let  him  look  to  him 
self!" 

'Ah !  Mr.  Brigham !"  said  Samuel,  saluting  him,  "  I  am 
happy  to  see  you  !" 

'*  You  are  very  good !"  returned  the  confidential  clerk,  with  a. 
gracious  bow,  and  showing  all  his  teeth  at  the  same  moment. 
"  From  prayer-meeting  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Samuel,  who  had  lost  none  of  his  simplicity ; 
"  from  a  journey  in  quest  of  an  unhappy  lady,  whom  perhaps 
you  may  know — Mrs.  Jones  ?" 

The  ladies  pricked  up  their  ears. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  !"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  laughingly.  "  Some 
friend  of  yours,  I  presume  T 

"  Yes,  and  a  very  worthy  lady." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  grocer's  wife,  Samuel  1"  inquired  Mrs. 
Townsend. 

"The  same." 

"  Poor  thing  !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  in  a  tone  of  assumed  sym 
pathy.  "  Her  husband  failed  a  few  days  ago." 

"  Unhappily — "  returned  Samuel. 

"And  fled,  I  think !"  observed  Mr.  Brigham.  "  It  appears  to 
me  I  heard  something  of  it.  Disappeared  suddenly  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — leaving  his  unhappy  wife  and  child  without  means 
of  support.  Can't  we  do  something  for  her  ?" 

Mr.  Brigham  "was  silent. 

"  Have  you  her  address  1"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  No. Laurence  .street,"  returned  Samuel. 

Mrs.  Townsend  bowed,  and  taking  out  her  tablets,  wrote  down 
the  address. 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it  ?"  asked  Isabella. 

"  Up  an  alley,  rear  building,  second  floor.     You  would  scarcely 


110          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

believe  it,"  added  Samuel,  "  but  her  husband's  failure  has  de 
prived  the  poor  lady  even  of  her  friends  !" 

"  Shameful !"  cried  Isabella,  in  virtuous  indignation. 

"  We  must  look  into  this  !"  observed  Mrs.  Townsend,  who 
never  lost  an  opportunity  for  creating  an  effect. 

"  Has  the  poor  woman  no  relatives  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Brigham. 
.    "  Several,"  replied  Samuel ;  "  but  none  of  them  have  been  to 
see  her." 

"  Why  don't  she  drop  them  a  note  1"  asked  the  confidential 
clerk. 

"  She  has  done  so  ;  but  they  paid  no  attention  to  her  letters. 
And  yet,"  he  added,  with  an  expression  of  uneasiness,  "  they 
must  have  received  them  !" 

Mr.  Brigham  showed  his  teeth,  and  observed — 

"And  yet  they  will  all  shine,  in  their  silks  and  satins,  next 
Sabbath,  and  be  highly  edified  at  their  pastor's  discourse!" 

"  For  shame,  Mr.  Brigham !"  said  Isabella,  with  an  air  of 
playful  reproach. 

"  Nay,  the  shame  will  be  with  them,  Miss  Landon !"  said  Mr. 
Brigham.  "And,  now  I  think  of  it,"  he  added,  with  his  noiseless 
smile,  "  I'll  make  a  memorandum  with  anybody  here,  that  they 
will  be  the  most  devout  of  all  the  congregation  !" 

"  Let  us  not  judge  them  too  harshly,"  observed  Samuel, 
gently.  "  Human  nature  is  not  so  bad,  after  all !" 

The  teeth  of  the  confidential  clerk  fairly  danced  with  laughter 
at  this  remark,  although  no  sound  came  from  their  owner's  lips. 

"I  called  on  two  of  them,  on  my  way  home,"  continued 
Samuel,  "  and  left  a  note  for  each,  with  a  brief  statement  of  the 
lady's  distress,  and  where  she  might  be  found.  So,  there  is  hope 
yet !" 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Samuel  1"  inquired  Mrs.  Towns- 
end. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          Ill 

*'  Because  they  cannot  now  plead  ignorance  of  the  poor  lady's 
situation  or  whereabouts." 

"  Let  us  hope  for  the  best !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  benignantly. 
"  In  the  meanwhile,  Mrs.  Jones  must  not  be  left  to  chance." 

"Prom  my  heart  I  thank  you !"  said  Samuel,  taking  her  hand 
and  pressing  it  warmly.  "  Ah  !  you  do  not  know  how  happy 
you  have  made  me  !" 

A  peculiar  smile  passed  over  Mrs.  Townsend's  face,  and  her 
eyes  dropped  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

The  confidential  clerk  was  a  quiet  observer  of  this  little  inci 
dent,  and  his  teeth  glistened. 

"  I  see — I  see!"  he  said  mentally.  "  This  religious  simpleton 
is  sweeping  all  before  him  !" 

"  Samuel !"  said  Isabella. 

"Well,  Miss  Landon!"  said  Samuel,  approaching  her. 

"  Ah  ha !"  mused  the  confidential  clerk.  "  There  is  fun 
ahead.  Isabella  is  growing  jealous  of  her  very  aunt.  A  certain 
individual  of  my  acquaintance  is  in  peril.  Who  knows  but  he 
may  yet  find  it  necessary  to  take  this  rural  youth  in  hand !" 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Samuel  1"  asked  Isabella,  looking 
him  laughingly  in  the  eye. 

"I  think  so.     Try  me!" 

"  Then  read  this,"  she  said,  putting  a  card  into  his  hand,  "  and 
let  me  see  a  specimen  of  your  abilities  in  that  way  !" 

"I'm  very  much  afraid  I  shall  have  to  take  this  youth  in 
hand  !"  thought  Mr.  Brigham. 

"  And  yet  I  dare  not  say  a  word  to  him  !"  murmured  Miri 
am.  "  What — what  will  he  think  of  me  !  and  cousin,  too — forc 
ing  herself  upon  him  before  our  very  eyes !" 

An  expression  of  unutterable  anguish  was  visible  in  her  sim 
ple  features. 

"  Miriam   is   in  torture !"    muttered   the   confidential   clerk, 


112          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

quietly  observing  her.  "  Well,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  find  that  one 
is  not  alone  in  his  misery !" 

Samuel  read  as  follows  : 

"  It  is  early  enough  yet  to  pay  poor  dear  Mrs.  Jones  a  visit. 
Help,  to-night,  may  be  of  service  to  her.  Assistance  is  doubly 
valuable  when  it  is  timely.  Will  you  go  with  me?  If  so,  put 
this  in  your  pocket,  and  I  will  get  ready  at  once.  My  heart  is 
always  easier,  and  my  dreams  pleasanter,  after  a  good  action !" 

Samuel  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

Isabella  looked  at'  him  as  if  she  would  read  his  very  soul. 

The  confidential  clerk  observed  them  both — his  eyes  half 
closed,  and  his  teeth  smiling  and  glistening  like  the  glittering 
light  produced  by  the  squirming  of  a  serpent. 

Miriam  was  regarding  the  carpet  with  a  mournful  air. 

Mrs.  Townsend,  from  her  seat  at  the  further  end  of  the  sofa, 
surveyed,  with  her  keen  orbs,  every  movement  and  expression 
of  each  actor  in  the  group  before  her.  Her  cheek  was  paler 
than  usual,  and  an  occasional  spasmodic  movement  of  her  lips 
betrayed  the  agitation  of  her  heart,  or  mind — it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  say  which. 

"  And  not  a  word  from  Miriam  !"  thought  Samuel.  "  I  always 
thought  her  kind,  and  good,  and  generous ;  and  yet  in  this  sol 
emn  hour,  when  suffering  sends  up  its  cry  for  help,  her  voice 
alone  is  silent !  I  fancied  she  would  have  been  the  first  to  ex 
tend  the  hand  of  charity.  How  I  have  misapprehended  her ! 
And  Miss  Landon,  too,  whom  I  had  thought  the  last  to  hearken  to 
distress !  How  I  have  misjudged  her  /" 

Then  turning  to  Isabella,  he  said — 

"  Do  you  really  wish  this  to  be  kept  secret,  Miss  Landon  V 

"  Really  and  truly !"  answered  that  young  lady,  lifting  her 
finger  with  an  archness  which  was  truly  fascinating. 

The  teeth  of  the  confidential  clerk  fairly  writhed. 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          113 

"  Hang  her  !"  he  muttered.     "  How  I  could  tear  her  now  !" 

"  So  be  it,  then !"  returned  Samuel.  "  You  have  a  noble 
heart !" 

"  No  conspiracy  against  the  peace  and  welfare  of  the  country, 
I  hope  ?"  laughed  Mr.  Brigham,  showing  his  teeth. 

"  Oh,  yes — a  very  dreadful  one !"  answered  Isabella.  "And 
that  it  may  be  successful,  no  time  shall  be  lost  in  putting  it  into 
execution !"  she  added,  sweeping  past  him. 

"  Is  our  princess  about  to  deprive  her  poor  subjects  of  the 
light  of  her  countenance  ?"  inquired  the  man  of  teeth. 

"  For  a  time  !"  returned  the  proud  beauty,  with  flattering  con 
descension.  "  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  few  moments,  Samuel,"  she 
added,  gliding  from  the  drawing-room.  "  The  jealous  fool  can 
scarcely  restrain  himself!  This  will  give  him  food  for  pleasant 
dreams  !"  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  she  ascended  to  her  cham 
ber. 

"  I  shall  wait  for  you !"  said  Samuel.  Then  turning  his  eyes 
upon  Miriam,  who  was  still  looking  thoughtfully  upon  the  car 
pet,  he  murmured  :  "And  she  is  silent !" 

"  You  will  wait  for  me  one  of  these  days  !"  mused  the  confi 
dential  clerk. 

"  How  did  you  learn  of  Mrs.  Jones's  trouble,  Samuel  1"  asked 
Mrs.  Townsend,  as  that  gentleman  seated  himself  on  the  sofa. 

"Through  Charley  Gibbs,"  returned  Samuel,  "who  got  it 
from  a  lady  friend  of  his,  who  lives  next  door  to  the  poor  lady's 
late  residence. 

"  Fanny  Adriance,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  our  hero.     "And  a  dear  good  soul  she  is  !" 

"  You  must  not  let  Charley  Gibbs  hear  you  say  that !"  laughed 
Mr.  Brigham. 

"  I  have  told  him  se  frequently ;  and  he  fully  agrees  with  me !" 
returned  Samuel,  with  his  usual  simplicity. 


114  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  teeth  of  the  confidential  clerk  glittered  with  silent  irony. 

"  They  are  engaged,  I  believe  1"  said  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Samuel :  "  and  as  they  love  each  other  dearly, 
they  will  of  course  be  happy  !" 

"  Does  happiness  always  follow  love  T'  inquired  Mrs.  Towns- 
end. 

"  If  it  be  mutual  and  abiding — yes." 

"Ah — if!"  exclaimed  the  man  of  teeth,  with  a  sardonic 
grin. 

"  I  have  had  no  experience — or  if  any,  but  little — in  such 
matters,"  said  Samuel ;  "  but  I  should  think — " 

"  Should  think  /"  said  the  teeth,  as  plainly  as  any  words. 

"  Should  think,"  continued  Samuel,  modestly,  "  that  love,  if  it 
exist  at  all  between  two  hearts,  must  naturally  be  as  enduring 
as  the  hearts  themselves.  For  love  is  generous,  caring  more  for 
its  mate  than  for  itself,  and  therefore  spares  naught  that  will 
bring  happiness  to  its  mate.  And  thus  the  perpetual  inter 
change  of  tender  kindnesses  and  considerations  keeps  up  the  flame, 
and  the  mutual  fire  burns,  uninterruptedly,  on !" 

"  Samuel,  I  am  ready  !"  said  Isabella,  now  appearing  at  the 
door,  with  her  hat,  and  shawl,  and  gloves  on. 

Miriam  looked  up,  and  the  eyes  of  the  cousins  met.  Tri 
umph,  pride,  and  gratification  in  those  of  the  one — gentle 
reproach  and  soulful  suffering  in  those  of  the  other. 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  Samuel,  rising.  "  Good-bye  for  a  time  !" 
he  added. 

And  he  passed  from  the  drawing-room. 
Miriam  sighed. 

The  confidential  clerk's  teeth  withdrew  behind  their  guardians, 
the  small,  thin  lips :  an  indication  that  their  owner  was  in  a 
fume.  His  lapped  nostrils  rose  from  their  repose,  and  shook 
themselves  like  the  wings  of  a  great  owl  preparing  for  a  flight, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          115 

and  then  returned  to  their  rest :  a  sign  that  their  owner  had  had 
what  Miss  Landon  was  wont  to  term  a  "  sensation." 

"  There's  a  devU  in  that  man  that  will  do  mischief,  if  it  be  not 
caged  !"  mused  Mrs.  Townsend,  who  had  quietly  observed  him. 
And  as  it  was  a  part  of  her  husband's  policy  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  his  confidential  clerk,  for  the  present,  at  least,  Mrs.  Towns- 
end  concluded  to  soothe  that  individual's  wounded  vanity,  and 
soften  him  down  to  harmlessness.  While  she  was  thinking  how 
to  commence  her  proposed  task,  Mr.  Townsend  himself  entered 
the  room. 

"Ah !  Brigham !"  he  exclaimed,  throwing  his  pleasant  eyes 
upon  that  worthy,  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand  with  as  much 
heartiness  as  if  he  had  not  seen  him  before  for  many  years,  "  I'm 
glad  to  see  you.  What's  new  ?" 

"  Nothing,  that  I  know  of.     From  prayer-meeting  1" 

"  Yes,  this  moment.  And  a  pleasant  time  we  had  of  it,  I 
assure  you.  Brigham,  my  boy — you  ought  to  join  !" 

"What — the  prayer-meeting1?"  asked  the  teeth,  which  now  re 
made  their  appearance,  bright,  saucy,  and  expressive  as  ever. 

"  No — the  church.  The  prayer-meeting  is  a  luxury  which  you 
will  enjoy  afterwards !" 

"  I've  always  had  an  impression  that  the  church  rather  dis 
countenanced  luxuries !" 

"  All  wrong,  Brigham,  my  boy — all  wrong.  It  only  sets  its 
face  against  the  luxuries  of  the  world — that  is,"  he  added,  as  if 
correcting  himself,  "  those  which  are  unnecessary.  But  the  church 
has  its  own  luxuries,  compared  with  which  those  of  the  world 
are  perfectly  flat  and  insipid." 

"  Such,  for  instance — "  said  the  teeth,  querulously. 

"  As  our  lectures,  hymns,  prayer-meetings,  and  private  devo 
tions,"  said  the  merchant,  with  rare  unctuousness.  "  Get  religion, 
my  boy,  and  you  will  experience  the  richness  of  its  delights !" 


116         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

And  the  happy  merchant  rubbed  his  sleek  hands  with  pious 
fervor. 

The  teeth  curled  into  a  very  pretty  bijou  of  wreathed  smoke, 
and  their  owner  said — 

"  Ah !  you  are  very  good.  But  there  are  so  many  kinds  of 
the  article,  I  should  be  puzzled  for  a  choice." 

"  All  a  mistake,  Brigham,  my  boy — all  a  mistake,  I  assure 
you.  There  is  but  one  religion — " 

"  And  that  is — "  inquired  the  teeth. 

"  To  love  God,  and  serve  him  with  our  whole  hearts !"  an- 
swe'red  the  merchant,  with  solemn  fervor. 

The  teeth  roared,  in  their  silent  way,  with  jolly  laughter. 

"  If  that  be  the  only  kind,"  said  their  owner,  "  the  genuine 
article  is  rarer  than  I  had  supposed  !" 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  asked  the  merchant,  throwing 
his  pleasant  eyes  upon  the  other  with  an  air  which  seemed  to 
say — "  Look  !  a  specimen  of  a  believer  in  the  real  thing  is  before 
you.  Isn't  he  a  rouser  ?  And  can  you  entertain  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  after  seeing  him  ?" 

"  For  many  reasons,"  answered  the  confidential  clerk,  "  the 
principal  of  which  is,  that  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  man  courageous 
enough  to  act  up  to  it !" 

"  My  dear  Brigham !"  exclaimed  the  merchant,  with  tender 
reproach. 

"  I  have  a  pair  of  eyes — " 

"  And  sharp  ones,  too,  Brigham,  as  all  Liberty  street  will  tes 
tify  r  j&fc 

"  You  are  very  good !"  answered  the  confidential  clerk,  with  a 
low  bow.  "  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  have  a  pair  of  eyes,  and, 
being  a  member  of  no  particular  church,  I  am  privileged  to 
wander,  without  scandal,  among  them  all." 

"  And  you  see  the  same  happy  unity  of  purpose  in  them  all — - 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          117 

the  same  one  idea :  the  worship  of  the  Most  High  God  !"  said  the 
merchant,  with  pious  enthusiasm. 

"  As  you  say — " 

"  I  thought  so,  my  dear  Brigham — I  thought  so !"  cried  the 
other,  rubbing  his  fat  hands  in  delight.  "  Do  you  hear  that,  Jane, 
dear1?  Mr.  Brigham  finds  everywhere — among  all  churches  and 
all  sects — the  same  beautiful  oneness  of  purpose,  the  same  sin 
gleness  of  idea :  the  worship  of  our  common  God !" 

"Mr.  Brigham's  testimony  is  dearly  prized,  my  dear,  if  that 
be  his  testimony.  But,"  she  added,  with  her  usual  benignity, 
"  I  fear  we  are  too  premature  in  the  conclusion.  I  shall  be  happy 
to  hear  Mr.  Brigham's  evidence,  however,  be  it  what  it  may  !" 

"  You  are  very  good  !"  said  that  worthy,  with  a  low  bow. 

"  But,  my  dear  Brigham,"  said  the  merchant,  "  you  certainly 
admitted  that  the  same  oneness  of  devotion  was  visible  in  all 
churches  ?" 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  confidential  clerk,  his  teeth  glittering  like 
the  folds  of  an  anaconda,  "  the  same  oneness  of  devotion,  to — 
various  gods  !" 

"  Dear  Mr.  Brigham  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  sorrowful 
astonishment. 

"  My  dear  Brigham !"  cried  her  husband,  with  an  air  of  pious 
horror,  "  how  can  you  say  so  !". 

"  Very  easily  indeed  !"  returned  the  teeth. 

"  But,  my  dear  Brigham,"  said  the  merchant,  "  that  would  im 
ply  a  variety  of  RELIGIONS  !" 

"  Exactly,"  returned  the  confidential  clerk.  "  For  instance, 
the  religion  of  dress,  with  which  I  find  no  fault,  since  it  is  the 
chief  support  of  our  trade ;  the  religion  of  pride,  which  leads 
Satin  to  look  down  upon  poor  Calico  with  the  most  insulting 
scorn ;  the  religion  of  envy,  which  persuades  Calico  to  regard 
Satin  with  feelings  of  solemn  hatred  ;  the  religion  of  Arrogance, 
which  bids  its  votaries  to  say,  ;  Come  not  near  me — I  am  holier 


118          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

and  better  than  thou !'  the  religion  of  Insolence,  which  inspires  its 
worshippers  to  exclaim — 'Away,  I  am  more  benevolent,  I 
give  more  than  thou ;'  the  religion  of  Support,  which  leads  the 
hypocritical  poor — for  there  are  of  them  as  of  the  hypocritical  rich 
— to  affect  piety  for  the  sake  of  assistance  from  the  Church ;  the 
religion  of  Humbug,  which  makes  the  open,  unscrupulous,  and 
audacious  rascal  of  the  wreek,  a  sleek,  smooth,  gentle,  and  sanc 
tified  rascal  on  the  Sabbath  ;  and  over  all,  and  around  all,  the 
religion  of  the  Almighty  Dollar  !  But  the  religion  of  GOD — 
where  is  it  ?" 

And  the  teeth  absolutely  danced  with  wild  scorn,  frenzy,  and 
satanic  rapture. 

Miriam  shuddered  as  she  listened.  She  surveyed  the  satirical 
speaker  with  instinctive  dread ;  and  when  he  had  brought  his 
remarks  to  a  close,  she  dropped  her  eyes  mournfully  to  the 
floor.  A  sense  of  uneasiness — why,  she  could  not  explain — 
crept  over  her  gentle  heart,  and  filled  it  with  an  undefinable  ter 
ror.  She  moved  her  chair  back,  unconsciously,  or  rather  instinct 
ively,  not  a  great  way,  to  be  sure,  but  still  far  enough  to  render 
her  a  little  easier — as  if  for  relief.  Her  pure,  timid  nature  could 
not  endure  a  nearer  contact  with  that  malignant  spirit,  which 
seemed  to  gloat,  with  fiendish  pleasure,  over  the  weaknesses  of 
humanity. 

Of  the  correctness  of  Mr.  Brigham's  remarks,  Miriam  knew 
not.  She  herself  had  never  observed  them.  Nor,  although  a 
constant  attendant  at  God's  house,  was  that  a  matter  of  wonder. 
Poor  Miriam  went  there  to  worship — not  to  see  ;  to  praise  her 
Redeemer — not  to  mock  his  people,  not  to  ridicule  the  errors  of 
poor  human  nature  ! 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Brigham !"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  shaking  his 
head  with  pious  sadness.  "  My  dear  boy — how  can  you  talk  in 
that  way  *?  You  make  me  shudder.  You  do,  indeed  !  I  wouldn't 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          119 

think  that  way,  nor  speak  so,  for  the  world — no,  not  for  all  the 
world  !" 

The  teeth  laughed  immoderately  in  their  peculiar  way,  and 
said,  as  plainly  as  teeth  could  be  expected  to  say :  "  That's  all 
very  pretty ;  but  you  act  it  for  a  VERY  SMALL  fraction  of  what 
is  in  it !" 

The  conversation  was  by  no  means  to  the*  merchant's  taste, 
and  he  concluded  to  change  it. 

"  Ah !  Brigham,  my  boy,"  he  said,  with  an  arch  grin,  "  you 
are  a  sad  dog  !" 

"  You  are  very  good !"  returned  the  man  of  teeth,  with  a  low 
bow. 

"  You  are  a  queer  fellow,"  continued  Mr.  Town  send,  with  a 
knowing  look  ;  "  always  cracking  hard  jokes.  Ah  !"  he  added, 
with  a  dubious  sigh,  "  that's  just  like  you  young  blades.  Deal 
ing  in  sarcasms  and  home  thrusts  all  the  while,  sparing  nothing 
and  caring  for  nobody,  so  long  as  you  get  your  own  fun.  Well, 
well,  there's  one  consolation :  we  think  better  of  heavenly 
things  as  we  grow  older  !" 

The  teeth  laughed  uproariously  at  this  observation,  and  their 
owner's  eyes  met  those  of  the  merchant's  in  a  sly,  meaning  way ; 
and  the  merchant's  met  his  in  a  way  equally  as  full  of  meaning 
and  equally  as  sly ;  and  they  glanced  at  each  other  for  about  ten 
seconds,  with  a  look  which  seemed  to  say — "  We  understand  one 
another,  tip  top — eh  1  You  can't  gammon  me,  any  more  than  I 
can  gammon  you — eh  ?  Rare  humbugs  both — eh  ?  Sly  boys, 
we  are — very  sly — eh  ?"  and  then  both  eyes  turned  a  somerset, 
as  it  were,  and  each  went  his  own  way,  like  two  little  truant 
boys  who  were  having  lots  of  fun  on  a  bright  sunshiny  day. 

"  But  how  is  this,  Jane  T  said  the  merchant.  "  I  don't  see 
Isabella !" 

"  She  went  out  with  Samuel  a  few  minutes  before  you  came  in." 


120          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Dear  me !  How  very  like  her !  So  full  of  spirits,  too ! 
With  Samuel,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes.  Some  crink  got  into  her  head,  and  she  invited  him  to 
accompany  her !" 

"  That  is  very  singular.  Why,  Brigham,  my  boy — why  didn't 
you  stand  up  for  your  rights  ?  Bless  your  soul !  my  boy,  this 
will  never  do.  What — let  another  cut  you  out  ?  I'm  astonished 
at  you !" 

"  Am  I  Miss  Landon's  keeper  ?"  asked  the  confidential  clerk, 
whose  teeth  intimated  that  he  felt  somewhat  sore  somewhere. 

"  If  you  are  not  now,  you  will  be  one  of  these  days,  my  boy, 
and  then,  I  fancy  that  the  house  of  John  P.  Townsend  will  have 
another  new  partner.  Shall  he  be  a  silent  or  a  known  one — eh, 
my  boy  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  giving  "  my  boy"  a  sly  touch 
of  his  finger  in  the  ribs. 

This  was  hitting  the  confidential  clerk  in  the  right  spot.  His 
reserve  melted  at  once  into  a  pleasant  smile,  in  which  every 
tooth  joined  with  right  good-will. 

"  That  will  be  as  you  please,  sir !"  he  said,  very  graciously. 

"  No,  sir,  as  you  please  !"  returned  the  merchant,  in  his  jocu 
lar  way ;  "  for  you  will  then  be  the  youngest  and  most  active 
member  of  the  firm,  and,  of  course,  it  will  be  a  pleasure,  on  our 
parts,  to  yield  to  your  wishes  in  that,  as  in  eyery  other  particu 
lar!" 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir !"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  with  a  very  low 
bow. 

"The  silly  fool  believes  every  word  of  this  guy  !"  thought  the 
pious  merchant.  "And  he  has  heard  it,  off  and  on,  these  six 
years.  The  simpleton !  It  is  singular  how  a  man  will  assist 
another  in  making  a  fool  of  him  on  his  own  cherished  hobby !" 

Mr.  Brigham  now  rose,  and  commenced  buttoning  up  his  coat. 

"  What,  Brigham,  my  boy !"  cried  Mr.  Townsend,  "  you  are 
not  off?" 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          121 

"  I  have  an  engagement  at  nine,  and  it  only  lacks  a  few  minutes 
of  that  time.'  I  should  be  most  happy  to  remain  a  while  longer, 
but — you  know  my  weakness — punctuality  !" 

"  Say,  rather,  your  strength,  my  boy !  Nothing  like  it — 
nothing  like  it.  It  will  make  you  a  bank  president  yet !" 

"  You  are  very  good  !  Be  kind  enough,"  he  added,  turning  to 
Mrs.  Townsend,  "  to  give  my  respects  to  Miss  Landon,  and  say 
Good-Night  for  me  to  Mr.  Leland." 

"  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  doing  both,  Mr.  Brigham." 

"  You  are  very  good !     Good-night !" 

And  after  a  gentle  bow  to  each  of  the  occupants  of  the  draw 
ing-room,  the  confidential  clerk  took  his  departure :  a  smile  on 
his  lip,  and  bitterness  in  his  heart. 

As  he  disappeared,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Townsend  exchanged  glances, 
which  said  as  plainly  as  glances  could — 

"A  crafty  fish ;  rather  shy  of  the  hook :  but  we  know  how  to 
make  him  bite— eh  ?" 

A  few  minutes  later,  Samuel  and  Isabella  returned  ;  the  former 
serene  and  happy,  as  usual ;  the  latter  radiant  with  triumph. 

"Ah,  'Bel !"  said  her  guardian,  playfully,  "  your  knight  is  off, 
you  see,  and  the  chair  that  once  knew  him  knows  him  no  more !" 

"  Indeed,  uncle !  You  amaze  me  !  Pray,  to  whom  do  you 
refer  ?" 

"A  pretty  question  !  To  whom  but  your  Knight  of  the  Rue 
ful  Countenance — the  dear,  delightful  Mr.  Brigham  !" 

"  Mr.  Brigham,  indeed !  My  knight  ?  Dear  guardy,  what 
put  that  silly  notion  into  your  head  ?" 

« Silly,  'Bel!" 

"Very  silly,  indeed,  guardy!  What  is  Mr.  Brigham  to  me? 
Oh,  Samuel — will  you  join  me  in  a  sacred  melody  ?  I  do  so  love 
sacred  music !" 

Samuel  signified  his  willingness,  and  in  another  moment  Isa- 

6 


122          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

bella  was  seated  at  the  piano,  her  rich  voice  and  Samuel's  uniting 
in  an  inspiring  anthem. 

Mr.  Townsend  glanced  at  his  wife.  Their  eyes  met,  and  they 
exchanged  a  meaning  smile. 

"A  rare,  bold  girl !"  muttered  the  former,  in  a  low  whisper. 
"  She  is  bent  upon  a  conquest  1" 

"  In  which,  with  all  her  art,  she  will  not  succeed !" 

"  Umph !  I  don't  know !  In  the  battle  of  life,  the  boldest 
oftenest  take  the  prizes.  Hark,  how  she  plays — the  cunning 
baggage !  With  what  vigorous  confidence  she  strikes  the  keys  ! 
Observe  her  melting  glance  up  at  her  victim,  as  if  her  very  soul 
were  in  her  eyes.  And  he — poor,  inexperienced  simpleton  ! — 
takes  it  for  the  inspiration  of  devotion !  Well,  I  don't  know 
that  I  should  laugh  at  him.  Such  a  pair  of  eyes  might  well  cap 
ture  an  older  heart  and  a  wiser  head !" 

"  Nay,  she  has  not  won  him  yet !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend  in  a 
dry,  husky  voice,  and  raising  her  left  hand  to  her  breast,  which 
was  throbbing  with  singular  violence  and  rapidity. 

"  But  she  will — depend  upon  it.  She  is  playing  upon  his 
sympathies !" 

"  What  then  ?"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  withdrawing  her  gaze  from 
the  piano,  and  turning  it  upon  Miriam. 

"  What  then,  Jane "?  How  dull  you  are !  Why,  'Bel  is  a 
master-spirit  in  that  line ;  and  he  a  simple,  impressible,  inexpe 
rienced  youth !" 

"True!"  observed  his  wife,  passively,  with  her  eye  still  fixed 
upon  Miriam. 

"As  I  live,"  continued  the  merchant,  "  she  feels  her  triumph. 
Note  how  she  struggles  to  catch  his  eye.  She  is  evidently  proud 
of  her  conquest !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  made  no  response  to  this  remark. 

"  Well,"  added  her  husband,  "  he  is  a  magnificent  fellow,  to  be 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          123 

sure.  But  then,  that  isn't  much,  after  all,  in  a  man.  Money  is 
the  main  thing,  and  Samuel  is  troubled  but  little  with  that.  'Bel, 
however,  thinks,  I  presume,  she  can  afford  to  indulge  her  own 
wishes  in  this  case,  since  she  has  enough  for  both.  Well,  perhaps 
she  is  right.  Samuel,  with  or  without  money,  is,  after  all,  an 
object.  Young,  handsome,  noble — really,  I  cannot  help  admiring 
'Bel's  taste.  The  young  fellow  is  well  worth  the  winning !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  made  no  answer. 

Her  husband  looked  at  her,  as  if  for  an  explanation  of  her 
silence.  As  his  glance  fell  upon  her,  his  features  became  grave 
with  surprise. 

And  no  wonder.     Mrs.  Townsend  was  at  that  moment  a  sub 
ject  for  an  artist. 

A  round,  pale  spot,  of  a  snowy  whiteness,  was  visible  in  the 
hollow  of  her  cheek.  Both  hands  were  pressed  tightly  upon  her 
left  breast,  as  if  to  stifle  the  loud  beatings  of  her  heart.  Her 
dark  eye,  which  was  riveted  upon  the  fascinating  Isabella,  ap 
peared  to  be  shooting  at  the  latter  balls  of  malignant  fire.  • 

"  Jane,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  touching  her  softly  on  the 
shoulder,  "  what  is  the  matter  1n 

A  blush — a  slight  start — an  air  of  confusion — a  quick,  brave 
struggle,  and  Mrs.  Townsend  was  herself  again,  and  in  the  full 
possession  of  her  intellectual  powers. 

"  Look  there !"  she  said,  in  the  low  tone  in  which  they  had 
been  conversing,  as  she  pointed  towards  the  window. 

Her  husband  turned  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  and  started. 
He  was  about  to  speak  aloud,  but  Mrs.  Townsend's  hand  was 
over  his  lips  in  an  instant,  and  the  half-uttered  word  was  drowned 
by  the  swelling  voices  which  accompanied  the  stirring  music  of 
the  piano. 

Prostrate,  and  apparently  lifeless,  her  face  downward,  upon  a 
lounge,  lay  their  mutual  favorite — Miriam. 


124         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Not  a  word  !"  whispered  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  She  has  fainted— " 

"  Hush !"  said  his  wife,  as  they  passed  softly  towards  the  body. 
«  She  loves  him—" 
Samuel  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  this  has  been  too  much  for  her." 

"Poor  thing!" 

"  Hush  !  Raise  her  head  gently  while  I  apply  my  salts.  So — 
.not  a  word.  They  must  know  nothing  of  it,  for  the  world !" 

A  few  seconds  passed  away,  and  the  couple  were  rewarded 
for  their  solicitude  by  a  low  sigh.  This  was  followed  by  a  gentle 
quivering  of  the  muscles ;  that  by  a  second  and  deeper  sigh,  and 
Miriam  looked  up.  Her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes  dry,  her  hands 
cold,  and  her  frame  trembling  with  a  cold  shiver. 

The  music  was  still  pealing — the  two  voices  still  ascending. 

A  glance — and  Miriam  comprehended  all.  In  an  instant,  her 
face  was  crimsoned  with  a  burning  blush.  The  poor  girl  uttered 
a  low  moan,  and  hid  her  face  on  the  bosom  of  her  aunt,  who  was 
sitting  on  her  left — her  uncle,  holding  and  rubbing  her  small 
trembling  hand,  on  her  right. 

"  Hush,  Mirry,  darling  !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  a  low  whis 
per  ;  "  not  a  word.  Compose  yourself.  Inhale  my  salts.  Be  calm. 
They  know  nothing  of  it !" 

"Art  sure,  aunt1?" 

"Quite  sure,  darling.  There — wipe  your  eyes,  and  look 
bright  and  cheerful,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  There — that's  a 
love!" 

"  Call  up  your  courage,  Mirry !"  said  her  uncle,  encouragingly. 
"  They  are  bringing  their  anthem  to  a  close." 

"  Put  on  a  smile,  Mirry,  love.  There — that's  it.  Now  you 
are  our  own  darling  once  more !" 

"  Dear  aunt,  stay  by  me.    I  am  feeble  still  i" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  125 

"  Summon  all  your  nerve,  dear.     I'll  keep  near  you." 

"  They  are  finishing,"  observed  Mr.  Townsend.  "  Are  you 
composed,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Quite,  dear  uncle.     How  shall  I  thank  you1?" 

"  Hush !  Don't  mention  it.  They  are  done.  I  must  rise 
and  keep  them  away !" 

"  Bravo,  'Bel !  bravo,  Samuel !"  he  continued,  approaching 
them,  and  taking  a  hand  of  each.  "  Admirable !  I  really  must 
thank  you  for  the  pleasure  which  you  have  given  us.  You  cannot 
conceive  how  deeply  you  have  touched  our  feelings !" 

"  Say,  rather,  the  music,"  returned  Isabella ;  "  it  is  so  solemn, 
so  inspiring.  Don't  you  agree  with  me,  dear  aunt  V 

"  Something  should  be  said  for  the  singers,  'Bel !  You  are 
really  too  modest !" 

"  What  think  you,  Mirry,  dear  ?"  continued  Isabella. 

"  Matchless  hypocrite  !"  murmured  Mrs.  Townsend,  mentally. 

"  The  music  is  certainly  very  inspiring,  cousin." 

"And  solemn,  too — eh,  coz  ?"  persisted  Isabella. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  thft  solemnity  of  sacred  themes,  in 
whatever  shape,  I  think !"  answered  Miriam,  modestly. 

"  True,  Miss  Selden  !"  observed  Samuel.  "  Sacred  themes  are 
ever  solemn,  because  they  are  higher  than  all  of  earth ;  because 
they  purify,  ennoble,  and  elevate  the  soul ;  and  because  they  lift 
the  heart,  as  it  were,  to  heaven,  and  bring  it  into  a  joyful  com 
munion,  if  only  for  a  little  time,  with  God  !" 

"  This  man,  at  least,  has  courage,"  mused  Mr.  Townsend,  re 
membering  Mr.  Brigham's  observation ;  "  for  he  is  in  EARNEST  !" 

"  But,  dear  friends,"  continued  Samuel,  with  a  serene  smile, 
"  there  is  a  something  higher  and  more  inspiring  than  even  music — - 
a  something  which  takes  us  nearer  and  quicker  to  our  Prince — 
PRAYER  !  To  him  who  knoweth  not  its  use,  it  is  as  nothing  ;  to 
him  whose  heart  approaches  it  in  feebleness  or  in  doubt,  it  re 
turns  no  joy  ;  but  to  him  who  goes  fo  it  in  faith — a  little  thing, 


126          WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

but  ah !  how  full  of  price ! — it  is  as  the  refreshing  breath  of  the 
morning,  when  cleansed  and  gilded  by  the  sun !" 

"  I  always  feel  happier  after  prayer !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  with 
affected  feeling.  "  Don't  you,  Mirry,  dear  ?" 

"  Precious  hypocrite !  you  play  your  game  boldly  and  well ! 
I'll  preserve  Miriam  from  your  malevolence,  however,"  mused 
the  merchant. 

Then  speaking  aloud,  he  said — 

"  Yes,  there  is  an  unction  in  prayer.  Let  us  partake  of  it 
now  !" 

All  dropped  upon  their  knees  :  two,  at  least,  in  reverence. 

Mrs.  Townsend  and  Miriam  by  the  lounge,  near  the  window ; 
Mr.  Townsend  by  the  sofa,  his  face  towards  the  wall ;  Samuel 
on  the  floor,  midway  between  the  centre-table  and  the  folding- 
doors  ;  Isabella,  in  a  studied  attitude,  her  face  towards  the  object 
of  her  new  attachment,  her  forehead  bowed  upon  her  clasped 
hands,  and  her  eyes  turned  stealthily  upon  him,  whom  she  was 
now  exerting  all  the  fascination  of  her  woman's  powers  to  win. 

"  Samuel,"  asked  the  merchant,  "  will  you  kindly  lead  the 
way?" 

There  was  a  momentary  pause — a  solemn  silence,  and  then 
the  pure  soul  of  Samuel  was  communing,  in  artless,  earnest  sim 
plicity,  with  our  Common  Friend. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

BETWEEN  nine  and  ten  o'clock  of  the  following  morning,  Miriam 
ascended  to  her  chamber,  and  quietly  dressed  herself  for  a  visit 
to  Mrs.  Jones.  Her  dress  was  in  keeping  with  her  modest, 
retiring  nature :  simple,  neat,  and  plain.  On  her  way  to  the  hall 
door  she  was  met  by  her  aunt. 

"  Going  to  take  the  air,  Mirry  ?"  inquired  the  latter,  who  had 
a  shrewd  conception  of  her  real  object. 

"  Partly,  aunt.     Good-bye  for  an  hour !" 

And  she  passed  from  the  house.  Fifteen  minutes  later,  Miriam 
was  threading  her  way  up  a  short  arched  alley  leading  to  a  small 
yard  which  faced  a  dingy  two-story  brick  building,  with  a  door 
at  either  end,  which  communicated  with  the  first  and  second 
floors ;  a  flight  of  stone  steps  in  the  centre  led  to  an  area,  which 
branched  off,  right  and  left,  to  as  many  doors,  each  leading  to  a 
small,  narrow,  dirty  den,  termed  by  courtesy  a  basement,  which 
was  partially  lighted  by  a  small  window-sash,  whose  "panes" 
were  variously  made  up  of  castaway  hats,  protruding  bunches 
of  discarded  frocks,  tacked  and  ragged  newspapers,  "  cut  to  fit,'* 
and  here  and  there  a  genuine  sheet  of  glass,  miscellaneously 
spotted  with  greasy  finger-marks  and  serried  ridges  of  congre 
gated  dust.  A  hod  leaning  against  the  area  before  one  door,  and 
an  unwashed,  uncombed  urchin  peeling  potatoes  at  the  other, 
indicated  the  character  and  nationality  of  the  basement  tenants. 

The  yard,  or  rather  the  narrow  space  which  was  dignified  by 
that  name,  was  paved  with  medium-sized  cobble-stones,  between 
the  spaces  of  which  a  mess  of  discarded  suds,  of  a  bluish  tinge, 
was  struggling  to  find  its  way  into  the  absorbing  earth.  Three 

(187) 


128          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

or  four  scattered  poles  upheld  two  sagging  clothes-lines,  which 
threatened  every  instant  to  give  way  beneath  their  drying  bur 
dens  of  shirts,  and  caps,  and  frocks,  and  flannels,  and  kerchiefs,  01 
every  size  and  color,  and  let  them  shift  for  themselves.  Midway 
in  the  yard,  as  if  to  indicate  the  equal  right  of  the  tenants  of  both 
sides  of  the  house  to  its  use,  was  an  open  cistern,  from  which  an 
Irish  woman  was  drawing  watftr,  and  equally  interesting  herself 
in  filling  a  large  tub,  and  in  regarding  our  heroine  with  a  pro 
longed  stare. 

In  a  corner,  on  the  left,  before  a  tub  which  was  supported  by 
a  small  bench,  stood  a  short,  stout  female,  whose  lively,  intelli 
gent  eye,  and  clean,  pleasant  features,  bespoke  her  the  possessor 
of  a  happy,  cheerful,  and  contented  spirit. 

Mrs.  Farley  was  a  poor  widow,  who  gained  a  subsistence  for 
herself  and  little  Bob — a  short,  timid,  simple-minded  boy  of  ten 
years,  with  a  broken  back,  a  misfortune  which,  instead  of  exciting 
the  pity,  evoked  the  derision  of  his  schoolmates,  who  always 
called  him  "  Humpy" — by  washing,  and,  as  her  sign  at  the  corner 
of  the  alley  stated,  going  out  to  day's  work. 

Naturally  tidy,  prudent,  and  industrious,  Mrs.  Farley,  as  the 
good  creature  herself  expressed  it,  "  had  always  enough  to  do, 
enough  to  eat,  enough  to  wear,  and  enough  to  be  thankful  for ; 
and  if  the  boys  would  only  let  her  Bob  alone,  and  not  call  him 
names,  and  not  hit  him,  she  would  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the 
world." 

Mrs.  Farley  was  a  devout  Christian,  a  good  neighbor,  and  a  faith 
ful  friend.  She  understood  religion  as  they  understand  it  who 
know  it  by  its  realities,  and  not  alone  by  its  forms ;  and  she  enjoyed 
\t  as  they  enjoy  it  who  are  sometimes  favored  with  visits  from  its 
Founder.  Every  Sabbath  Mrs.  Farley  went  up  to  the  house  of 
the  Lord  to  thank  Him  for  His  loving-kindness  to  herself  and 
boy  during  the  week  ;  and  to  renew  her  grateful  praises  to  her 
Redeemer  for  securing  her  and  hers  a  home  in  His  house  of 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  129 

many  mansions.  So  humble,  gentle,  and  consistent  was  her  de 
portment,  both  as  a  Christian,  a  neighbor,  and  a  friend,  that  even 
the  Irish  Catholics,  by  whom  she  was  surrounded,  were  reluctantly 
compelled  to  admit  that  "Misses  Farley,  the  little  Methodist 
woman,"  or,  as  they  sometimes  varied  it,  "  the  little  Prodisint 
craycher,"  was,  after  all,  a  "'nice  body,"  and  stood  almost  as 
good  a  chance  of  reaching  heaven  as  themselves. 

Mrs.  Farley  was  one  of  the  few  who  are  wise  enough  to 
make  a  pleasure  of  business.  It  was  really  delightful  to  see  her 
work.  She  went  at  it  with  the  same  joyful  alacrity  which 
most  women  display  when  preparing  for  a  ball ;  and  she  took 
hold  of  it  with  a  spirit  which  seemed  to  say — "  Here's  fun ;  now 
for  it."  As  she  worked,  she  sung  ;  and  as  she  sung,  she  worked ; 
and  thus  it  was  with  her  the  livelong  day,  from  Monday  morning 
to  Saturday  flight,  and  from  January  to  December.  Her  songs 
were  those  of  the  Christian — hymns  :  hymns  of  joy,  and  prayer, 
and  praise. 

Sneer  not.  at  them,  reader.  Try  them,  rather ;  and  when, 
happily  for  thee,  thou  canst  sing  them  with  the  same  zest  and 
the  same  heart-gushing  fervor  as  did  our  humble  laundress,  thy 
spirit  will  have  realized  the  truth  that  there  is  a  higher  state  of 
mind  than  a  scoffer's. 

As  Miriam  passed  up  the  alley,  she  heard  the  voice  of  the 
happy  laundress  singing — 

"  And  let  this  feeble  body  fail, 

And  let  it  faint  or  die, 
My  soul  shall  quit  the  mournful  vale, 

And  soar  to  worlds  on  high; 
Shall  join  the  disembodied  saints, 

And  find  its  long-sought  rest — 
That  only  bliss  for  which  it  pants, 

In  the  Redeemer's-  breast." 

6* 


130          WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  words  were  accompanied  by  a  sound  like  that  of  a  rippy 
dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip,  which  Miriam's  delicate  ear  recognized  as 
that  made  by  wet  linen  when  rubbed  and  shaken  by  an  energetic 
set  of  knuckles. 

As  our  heroine  entered  the  yard,  her  eye  followed  the  sound, 
and  it  rested  upon  the  cheerful  countenance  of  the  laundress, 
who  was  working  and  singing  away  like  one  who  thoroughly  en 
joyed  both — 

"  '  In  hope  of  that  immortal  crown, 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
I  now  the  cross  sustain, 

—A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip— 
And  gladly  wander  up  and  down, 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
And  smile  at  toil  and  pain — '  " 

"  How  do  you  do,  madam  1"  said  Miriam,  as  she  approached 
the  singer. 

Mrs.  Farley  looked  around  at  the  inquirer,  but  without  re 
linquishing  her  work,  and  politely  returned  the  salute,  which  was 
followed  up  by  the  perpetual  a-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip. 

"  A  pleasant  morning,  miss !"  a-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip. 
c<  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ]''  a-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip. 

"  I'm  looking  for  a  •  lady  by  the  name  of  Jones,"  continued 
Miriam.  "  Can  you  direct  me  to  her  V1 

"  Yes,  miss  !"  returned  the  laundress.  "  One  moment,  and  I 
will  lead  you  to  her  with  pleasure."  A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip, 
dip — dip — dip — dip — DIP  ! 

And  the  shirt  was  plunged  into  the  clean  white  suds,  then 
wrung  till  it  fairly  squealed,  and  then  folded  up  and  laid  carefully 
upon  a  small  pyramid  of  similar  articles  which  rested  upon  the 
bench. 

"  Now,  miss,"  said  the  laundress,  as  she  raised  her  apron  and 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          131 

wiped  her  arms  and  hands,  "  I  am  at  your  service.  This  way, 
if  you  please." 

She  entered  the  house  and  ascended  the  narrow,  naked  stair 
case — every  step  of  which  was  scoured  as  clean  and  bright  as 
the  top  of  a  new  table — which  led  to  the  second  floor. 

"Your  name,  if  you  please1?"  asked  the  laundress,  as  they 
reached  the  landing. 

Miriam  gave  it,  and  Mrs.  Farley  tapped  gently  at  the  back 
door. 

"  Come  in,"  answered  a  voice,  which  was  recognized  by  the 
visitor. 

Mrs.  Farley  turned  the  knob,  and  they  entered. 

A  lady,  with  a  child  in  her  lap,  sat  near  the  solitary  window 
which  lighted  the  small  square  apartment,  which  was  divided 
from  the  front  room  by  a  thin  partition.  The  lady  was  dressed 
in  a  bright,  showy  silk  dress,  which  contrasted  strongly  with  her 
present  humble  home.  Her  hair  was  of  a  light  color ;  her  eyes 
of  a  rich  blue ;  her  features  straight ;  her  lip  proud  and  haughty ; 
her  complexion  fair. 

This  was  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  Miss  Selden,"  said  the  laundress,  with  an  air  of  deep  re 
spect. 

And,  having  announced  the  visitor  to  her  guest,  Mrs.  Farley 
quietly  withdrew,  and  returned  to  her  work,  over  which  she 
might  have  been  heard,  a  few  moments  later,  singing — 

"  {  Oh,  what  are  all  my  sufferings  here, 
— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
If,  Lord,  thou  count  me  meet 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
With  that  enraptured  host  t'  appear, 
— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
And  worship  at  thy  feet  ? 

—A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip. 


182         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

Give  joy  or  grief,  give  ease  or  pain, 

Take  life  or  friends  away, 
But  let  me  find  them  all  again 
In  that  eternal  day.' 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip.  dip, 
Hippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip." 

"  Mir — I  beg  your  pardon — Miss  Selden  !"  said  Mrs.  Jones, 
motioning  her  visitor  to  a  chair.  "  To  what  am  I  indebted  for 
the  honor  of  this  visit "?" 

It  was  evident  from  her  manner  that  the  speaker  was  a  crea 
ture  of  pride,  and  that  her  change  in  circumstances  had  had  no 
effect  in  subduing  the  haughtiness  of  her  spirit. 

"  To  a  sincere  wish  to  serve  you,"  returned  Miriam,  gently. 

"  I  thank  you,"  returned  the  proud  woman,  in  a  cold,  sarcastic 
tone.  "  But,  as  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  require  your  aid,  you 
need  not  give  yourself  any  trouble." 

Miriam  felt  hurt  at  this  reply,  but  she  stifled  the  indignant 
feeling,  and  replied — 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  considered  obtrusive,  but  on  learning 
that  you  were  in  affliction,  I  thought  that — " 

"You  might  follow  in  your  impertinent  cousin's  wake,"  inter 
rupted  the  other ;  "  that  you  might,  like  her,  condescendingly 
step  down  from  your  pride,  and  insult  with  your  condescending 
alms  one  whom  fortune  has  exerted  herself  to  crush !  You  are 
very  kind,  miss ;  but  I  am  not  yet  a  beggar !" 

"  Oh !  dear  Mrs.  Jones,  you  misapprehend  me ;  you  do,  in 
deed  !  I  had  no  such  thought.  Nor  was  I  aware  that  my  cousin 
had  called  upon  you." 

"  Know  it  now,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  rising  and  taking  a 

roll  of  bills  from  the  mantel.     "  She  came  here  last  night,  with 

her  smooth-faced  lover,  Mr.  Leland,  and,  with  an  air  of  osten- 

-  tatious  generosity,  threw  this  into  my  lap.     'There,'  she  said, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          133 

with  impertinent  condescension,  'there's  a  hundred  dollars  for 
you.  I  would  give  you  more,  but  that  is  all  I  have  with  me. 
Keep  up  your  spirits,  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  you  shall  not  want. 
Come,  Samuel !'  And,  before  I  could  recover  from  the  shock  of 
the  insult,  she  was  gone  !" 

"  I  fear  y/)u  misunderstood  cousin's  motive,"  said  Miriam. 
"  I  do  not  think  she—" 

"  Her  motive  was  perfectly  transparent !"  interrupted  the 
other.  "It  was  to  dazzle  her  lover  ;  it  was  to  impress  him  with 
the  melting  kindness  of  her  heart — the  humane  richness  of  her 
nature.  That  was  the  motive ;  and  he — simpleton  that  he  is ! — 
rewarded  her  generosity  with  a  smile.  If  it  were  not  that  I  am 
not  yet  satisfied  of  his  real  character — whether  he  be  absolutely 
what  he  appears,  or  the  reverse — I  would  have  hurled  the  money 
at  his  retreating  head  !" 

Miriam's  heart  throbbed  violently. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  with  some  confusion,  "  that  Mr.  Leland 
is  all  that  he  seems  ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  he  would  not  know 
ingly  wound  any  one's  feelings,  for  the  world.  I  could  tell  you 
more  of  him,  but — " 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added,  with  an  effort,  as  a 
deep  blush  overspread  her  artless  countenance — 

"  I  meant  to  say  that  I  esteem  Mr.  Leland  very  highly,  and 
have  seen  so  much  of  the  purity  of  his  nature,  that  I  do  not 
believe  him  capable  of  an  ungenerous  action.  If  you  had  seen 
how  happy  he  was  last  evening  when  my  aunt  promised  to  step 
in  between  you  and  want,  you  would  understand  him  better  !"  ^  ^ 

"  Perhaps  so !"  returned  Mrs.  Jones,  who  read  the  secret  of 
that  little,  artless  heart.  "  I  am  willing,"  she  added,  with  a  slight 
abatement  of  her  hauteur,  "  to  confess  that  I  have  not  entirely 
lost  my  confidence  in  the  gentleman.  But  why  did  he  bring  that 
brazen  creature  here  to  mock  me  in  my  misery  ?" 


134  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  But  it  was  with  a  kindly  motive 
— I  feel  assured  of  that !" 

"  Well,  let  it  pass,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  "  And  now  for  your 
self." 

"I  understood  from  Mr.  Leland  that  you  were  in  distress, 
and—" 

"  Enough,"  interrupted  the  haughty  woman.  "  I  am  not  in 
want  of  sympathy ;  nor  do  I  ask  your  assistance.  When  I 
stand  in  need  of  either,  I  know  where  to  look  for  it !" 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  wounding  you,"  said  Miriam,  dropping 
her  eyes  in  confusion.  "  I  really  had  not ;  and  if  you  will  only 
forgive  my  boldness  in  coming,  I  will — " 

Mrs.  Jones  regarded  her  while  she  spoke  with  a  steady  eye ; 
but  as  she  paused,  her  features  softened.  The  tone  and  manner 
of  the  speaker  touched  her. 

"  Keep  your  seat,"  she  said,  as  Miriam  attempted  to  rise, 
"  and  give  me  your  hand." 

Miriam  complied  with  her  request,  and  the  proud  woman 
looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments  with  a  cold,  dry  eye,  as  if  to 
detect  a  spirit  of  lurking  pride,  of  curiosity — of  condescension, 
or  of  affected  humility ;  but  she  could  discover  naught  in  that 
sweet,  artless  face,  nor  in  that  clear,  frank  eye,  but  tender  sym 
pathy,  and  real  Christian  feeling. 

As  this  conviction  impressed  itself  upon  her  mind,  her  haughty 
nature  melted,  and  with  a  convulsive  pressure  of  her  visitor's 
small  hand,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Miriam  considerately  dropped  her  eyes,  which  lighted  upon 
the  unhappy  woman's  little  one,  who  was  looking  up  at  her  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  dislike. 

"Do  you  love  poor  me1?"  asked  Miriam,  holding  out  her 
hands  invitingly  to  the  child. 

The  latter  drew  back,  and  said — 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  135 

No.     Go  away.     You  make  my  mamma  cry  !" 

Miriam  turned  aside  her  head  to  hide  an  uprising  tear. 

"  Hush,  Ada — hush,  you  saucy  little  thing !  Miriam  is  your 
mamma's  friend.  You  must  love  her !" 

"  Do  you  love  her,  mamma  ?" 

"  Yes,  darling." 

The  child  was  silent;  but  the  expression  of  her  eyes  indicated 
that  she  had  some  misgivings. upon  that  point. 

"  You  must  kiss  Miriam,  darling,  and  make  up  friends." 

The  child  looked  doubtfully  at  the  visitor  ;  but  a  sweet  smile 
from  the  latter  conquered  her,  and  putting  her  little  arms  around 
Miriam,  she  pressed  her  ruby  lip  to  hers  with  an  earnestness 
which  showed  how  completely  every  doubt  was  banished  from 
her  mind. 

"  Forgive  my  rudeness,  Miriam,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  as  her 
child  sunk  back  in  her  lap.  "  My  recent  experiences  of  the 
world's  pride  and  faithlessness  have  shaken  my  confidence  in 
humanity." 

"  But  not  in  me,  I  hope,  dear  friend !" 

"  No,  Mirry — no  !"  answered  the  other,  wringing  her  hand. 
"  But" — she  paused — emotion  choked  her  utterance. 

Miriam  was  silent  from  sympathy. 

The  child's  doubts  of  Miriam  were  beginning  to  return. 

"  I  have  had  so  much  to  try  me,  of  late  !"  added  the  woman, 
recurring  to  the  same  idea.  "  My  husband's  failure,  and  sudden 
absence — the  abandonment  of  my  dearest  friends — my  abject 
poverty — !" 

"  Take  comfort,"  observed  Miriam.  "  Better  times  will 
come.  It  is  good  for  us  to  taste,  once  in  a  while,  of  adversity — 
we  can  the  better  appreciate  prosperity.  It  teaches  us  also  who 
is  our  Best  Friend." 

"  Oh,  Miriam — I  cannot  endure  it !     My  heart  will  break  !" 


136          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Trust  in  Him !"  said  Miriam,  with  an  impressive  gesture. 
"  He  is  good  and  kind.  Trust  in  Him !" 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  Her  heart  was  still  in  the  world  ; 
Miriam's  religious  suggestion  had  fallen  upon  an  icy  ear. 

"Think  of  it,  Miriam!"  she  said,  impetuously.  "To  be  left 
without  a  dollar ;  to  be  abandoned  by  one's  most  valued  friends ; 
to  be  avoided  by  one's  very  relatives ;  to  be  shunned  in  one's 
adversity  by  those  who  have  thriven  on  one's  prosperity.  By 
one's  very  sisters,  too  !" 

Miriam  looked  down.  She  knew  not  how  to  answer.  She 
was  puzzled  what  to  make  of  her  companion,  upon  whose  ear 
spiritual  comfort  fell  as  on  a  block  of  stone. 

"  And  yet,"  murmured  Miriam,  "  she  has  always  professed  to 
be  one  of  God's  people !" 

Poor  Miriam  little  guessed  that  it  was  a  mere  worldly  profes 
sion  ;  a  conventional  matter  :  nothing  more. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,  Miriam  !" 

"  It  is  very  sad,"  said  Miriam. 

"Sad!"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  energetic  scorn.  "It  is 
terrible !  Fancy  it,  in  little.  I — richly  born,  and  tenderly  cared 
for — I,  who  till  now  have  enjoyed  all  that  fortune  could  give  or 
heart  desire — I,  the  daughter  of  an  opulent  merchant,  and 
the  wife  of  an  opulent  merchant — I,  a  favored  child,  a  caressed 
wife — I,  who  have  ever  revelled  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  who 
have  known  poverty  only  by  its  name — I,  the  nursling  of  wealth, 
of  pride  and  fashion — I.  /  am  a  dependent  on  the  bounty  of  my 
laundress  /" 

Miriam  was  silent. 

"  While,"  added  the  impassioned  speaker,  "  those  whom  I  have 
befriended,  and  those  who  are  allied  to  me  by  blood,  are  living 
in  their  accustomed  luxury,  perfectly  regardless  of  my  position ! 
Is  it  not  exasperating  V 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          137 

Miriam  could  not  speak,  if  she  would.  It  affected  her  to  learn 
that  her  companion  was  an  utter  stranger  to  that  beautiful  spiritual 
system  which  enables  the  human  heart  to  greet  prosperity  and 
adversity,  want  and  plenty,  joy  and  sorrow,  happiness  and  afflic 
tion,  with  an  equal  welcome,  and  an  even  tranquility.  She  had 
not  looked  for  this,  and  the  discovery  brought  tears  to  her  eyes 

Mrs.  Jones  observed  them,  and  continued — 

"  I  see  you  feel  for  me !" 

"  I  do,  indeed  !"  murmured  Miriam. 

"  But  they  shall  pay  for  it !"  added  the  other.  "  For  every 
tear  they  have  made  me  shed,  they  shall  return  a  groan.  If  they 
have  forgotten  their  pride,  I  have  not  mine !  I'll  shame  them 
— shame  them  to  the  very  dust !" 

Miriam  looked  up  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Ah  !  you  may  well  stare  at  me,  girl.  But  I  have  said  it — 
they  shall  drain  the  cup  of  humiliation  to  the  dregs !" 

Miriam  regarded  her  inquiringly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean/'  said  the  vindictive  woman. 
"  Think  you  I  was  forced  to  hide  my  head  hi  this  vile  hole  1 
Know  me  better !" 

Miriam  shuddered ;  but  her  companion  was  too  absorbed  in 
her  own  energetic  thoughts  to  observe  it. 

"When," said  the  latter,  "I  received  notice  to  abandon  my 
house,  I  sent  copies  of  it,  without  remark,  to  my  sisters — you 
know  them,  Miriam, — they  are  our  '  first  families,'  "  she  added, 
mockingly,  "fully  expecting  they  would  at  once  hurry  to  my 
rescue,  and  tender  me  a  home  and  support  for  myself  and  child. 
But — would  you  believe  it  1 — they  returned  the  copies  without 
comment,  without  a  word  !  Do  you  hear  me,  girl  ?  My  very 
sisters  did  this — my  very  sisters  /"  she  repeated,  with  a  vehemence 
which  caused  her  timid  auditor  to  tremble  like  a  fluttering  leaf. 
"I  could  scarcely  credit  my  eyes,"  continued  Mrs.  Jones. 
"  My  heart  sunk,  my  brain  reeled.  But  /  did  not  fall — no,  I 


138          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

did  not  fall !"  she  cried,  exultingly.  "  They  did  not  drive  me  to 
that !  It  would  have  been  too  glorious  a  satisfaction  for  them. 
My  pride  sustained  me,  and  I  determined  to  punish  them.  There 
was  but  one  way  to  do  that — one  only  way :  through  their  family 
PRIDE  !  I  dispatched  a  note  at  once  to  my  laundress ;  told  her 
of  my  embarrassment,  of  my  husband's  failure  and  flight,  of 
the  faithlessness  of  my  friends,  of  my  poverty,  and  of  my  want 
of  a  roof  to  shelter  me.  She  replied  as  I  wished,  and — my  proud 
relatives  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  their  sister  is  a 
beggar,  and  herself  and  child  dependents  upon  the  bounty  of  a 
common  washwoman !  Ha  !  ha !  is  not  that  a  Roland  for  their 
Oliver  ?" 

Miriam  was  visibly  uneasy. 

"  What  means  have  you  V  she  asked. 

"  Not  a  dollar  !  Not  a  jewel — not.  a  ring — not  a  second  dress. 
Their  humiliation  would  have  been  incomplete  if  I  had  reserved 
a  solitary  shilling !" 

Miriam  shuddered.     She  drew  out  her  purse,  and  said — 

"  Will  you  not  allow  me — " 

"  No  !"  interrupted  the  haughty  woman,  with  a  proud  wave  of 
her  hand.  "Put  up  your  money,  girl.  You  mean  well,  and  I 
am  grateful  for  your  kindness;  but  I  would  not  touch  a  dollar 
o/  it  for  the  world  !" 

Poor  Miriam  was  troubled.  She  had  that  on  her  mind  which 
she  felt  it  a  duty  to  give  utterance  to ;  but  her  gentle  nature 
shrunk  from  arousing  the  animosity  of  the  fierce  spirit  beside 
her.  Still  it  was  a  duty,  and  she  concluded  to  perform  it,  be  the 
consequences  to  herself  what  they  might. 

"  You  are  thoughtful,  Miss  Selden  !"  observed  Mrs.  Jones,  who 
was  quietly  regarding  her.  "  Speak  out,  girl.  Am  I  the  subject 
of  your  reflections  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Miriam,  frankly.  "  I  have  been  wondering  • 
why — but  I  fear  you  will  think  mr  over  bold  !" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          139 

"  No,  girl !  I  possess  myself  too  much  spirit  to  censure  it  h? 
others.  Speak  out!  You  say  you  have  been  wondering — at 
what  r 

"  Yes,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  heroic  effort,  "  that  in  your  hour 
of  affliction  you  never  thought  of  calling  upon  the  Lord  for 
help." 

Her  companion  laughed. 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  she  asked,  half  scornfully. 

"  He  is  so  good,  so  generous,  and  so  reliable  a  helper,"  said 
Miriam,  simply.  "  And  it  is  so  sweet  to  turn  to  one  who  we 
know  will  understand  our  troubles,  and  joyfully  remove  them." 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  His  acquaintance ;  and  certainly  not 
the  fkjth  in  Him,  which  you  appear  to  have,  miss,  or  perhaps  I 
might  have  done  so !" 

"  But  if  you  only  would  get  acquainted  with  Him,  dear  Mrs. 
Jones,"  said  Miriam,  not  heeding  her  sarcasm,  "  you  would  like 
Him,  and  believe  in  Him,  and  have  faith  in  Him,  too.  I  have 
known  Him  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  I  can  testify — very 
humbly  and  very  simply,  to  be  sure,  but  still  joyfully — that  He 
has  been  very  good  to  me.  In  sorrow  I  have  turned  to  Him, 
and  He  has  wiped  away  my  tears ;  in  affliction  I  have  appealed 
to  Him,  and  He  has  sent  peace  unto  my  heart.  Oh,  do  try 
Him,  Mrs.  Jones — try  Him  once,  and  see  if  He  be  not  the  rarest 
and  best  friend  you  ever  knew.  He  is  so  good,  so  kind  ;  so  full 
of  truth  and  love ;  so  willing  to  hear,  and  to  be  found  by  all 
who  wish  to  tell  Him  of  their  troubles,  and  to  find  peace  and 
rest.  Do  try  Him  once,  dear  Mrs.  Jones ;  and  you  will  find 
peace,  and  comfort,  too,  and  strength  to  bear  up  with  your 
afflictions,  which  must,  I  know,  be  very  hard  to  sustain  all 
alone.  Try  Him  once — what  He  has  so  often  done  for  me,  He 
will,  so  full  is  He  of  goodness,  as  gladly  do  for  you !" 

"  Would  you  have  me  play  the  hypocrite  1"  demanded  her 
companion. 


m 

140          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Jones.  I  would  not,  indeed.  But  it  would  not 
be  wrong  to  ask  the  Lord  for  help  1  He  would  not  regard  it  so, 
I  know.  He  would  be  very  glad  to  hear  what  you  might  have 
to  tell,  and  to  assist  you,  too,  Mrs.  Jones,  as  no  one  else  could. 
He  tells  us  so,  Himself.  '  Call  upon  Me,'  He  says,  '  in  your 
day  of  trouble,  and  I  will  deliver  you !'  Open  your  heart  to 
Him,  Mrs.  Jones,  and  only  see  how  He  will  answer  you !" 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  asked  the  other,  calmly.  "  He  knows  it 
well  enough  already  !  Why  should  I  ?" 

"Because  He  asks  it,  Mrs.  Jones.     '-Give  me  thine  heart !'" 

"  It  would  not  be  worth  His  acceptance,"  returned  the  woman, 
in  a  voice  that,  indicated  how  much  she  was  disturbed. 

"  Oh,  don't  delude  yourself  with  any  thought  like  that,  dear 
Mrs.  Jones.  The  Lord  is  very  full  of  graciousness  and  goodness, 
and  He  will  take  it  with  as  much  joy  as  if  it  were  the  best  heart 
in  the  world!" 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  shudder.  "  I  am  looking 
in  upon  it  now,  and  I  see  things  which  make  me  tremble !" 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jones,"  cried  Miriam,  with  an  air  of  simple  joy, 
"  that  is  a  good  sign :  it  is  the  first  dawn  of  repentance.  The 
Lord  is  looking  in  upon  you ;  and  the  mild  radiance  of  His  eye 
is  lighting  up  your  heart,  so  you  and  He  can  see  it  together — so 
you  can  know  what  you  are  giving,  so  He  can  know  what  He  is 
taking.  Do  let  us  kneel  down  and  pray,  Mrs.  Jones — it  is  not 
fitting  that  wre  should  sit  or  stand  in  His  presence !" 

"  You  are  in  error,  miss !"  returned  the  other,  coldly.  "  I  see 
no  light  there — all  is  darkness  !" 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jones — " 

"  Hear  me,  girl.  I  look  in  upon  my  heart,  and  see  three-and- 
thirty  years  of  life — but  such  a  life  !  Shall  I  tell  you  of  what  it 
is  made  up  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  to  me,  Mrs.  Jones — but  the  Lord ;  and,  then,  no 
matter  of  what  it  is  made  up,  He  will  take  it,  thank  you  for  the 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT  1-il 

gift,  and  bless  you  as  no  one  else  can,  for  the  balance  of  your 
days." 

"  Well,  to  the  Lord,  then,  if  you  will  have  it  so.  Of  this  my 
life  is  made : — Of  an  infancy  which  was  sinless,  because  it  was 
pure  and  thoughtless.  Of  a  childhood  which  was  made  up,  in 
the  main,  of  a  world  of  studies  and  preparations  for  the  world, 
but  not  a  single  solemn  one  for  aught  beyond  it.  It  is  true,  I  was 
sent,  in  a  formal  way,  to  Sabbath-school ;  but  the  lessons  were 
formal,  they  were  formally  read,  formally  hurried  through,  and 
formally  forgotten.  I  was  sent  to  church,  but  everything  and 
everybody  was  formal  there,  as  in  the  Sabbath-school.  The 
prayers  were  formally  uttered,  the  sermons  formally  read,  the 
hymns  of  praise  formally  sung ;  the  congregation  entered  formally, 
joined  in  the  services  formally,  and  when  they  departed,  departed 
formally.  No  one  appeared  to  be  in  earnest,  neither  old  nor 
young  ;  neither  preacher,  nor  hearer,  nor  singer  :  all  were  alike 
formal,  cold,  undisturbed.  And  yet  it  was  called  God's  house  ; 
its  preacher  was  called  God's  preacher;  its  attendants  were 
called  God's  people.  I  could  not  understand  it.  At  home,  we 
had  prayers  morning,  evening,  and  at  meal-times.  But  it  was 
there  as  at  church:  mere  formality.  My  father  said  grace 
— it  was  short,  cold,  formal :  without  earnestness,  without  feel 
ing.  He  opened  family  prayer  in  the  morning,  in  the  evening : 
but  it  was  ever  the  same :  formality — nothing  more.  Formality 
without  feeling,  formality  without  earnestness.  My  parents,  my 
sisters,  my  acquaintance,  my  friends — all  were  alike.  They 
prayed,  and  after  prayer,  the  theatre;  they  prayed,  and  after 
prayer,  a  ball ;  they  prayed,  and  after  prayer,  a  jest,  which  was 
not  always  either  pure  or  refined  ;  they  prayed,  and  after  prayer, 
the  opera ;  they  prayed,  and  after  prayer,  slander,  slang,  and 
ribaldry,  in  which  each  deemed  it  a  glorious  feat  to  outdo  his  or 
her  neighbor.  And  thus,  amid  formalities  and  informalities, 
beneath  the  pressure  of  solemn  preparations  for  the  world,  but 


142  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

not  a  single  solemn  preparation  for  aught  beyond  it,  my  child 
hood  passed  away — stamping  upon  my  young  mind  the  indelible 
impression  that  life  was  a  joke,  religion  a  conventionalism,  and 
everything  unreal. 

"I  glided  into  maidenhood.  I  had  looked  forward  to  it  long, 
with  yearning  and  impatience,  as  the  Christian  looks  forward  to 
the  celestial  kingdom.  It  was  to  my  young  heart  the  one  great 
season  of  woman's  life — her  golden  era  of  love,  of  dress,  of  balls, 
of  music,  of  fond  hopes,  of  bright  thoughts  and  happy  dreams  ; 
and  I  found  all  these,  enjoyed  all  these,  mingled,  however,  with 
other  things  for  which  I  had  never  looked.  If  maidenhood  has 
its  sweets,  it  has  its  bitternesses  as  well.  It  is  the  era  of  observa 
tion  :  for  the  eye  then  is  young,  fresh,  sensitive,  and  brought  for 
the  first  time  in  absolute  contact  with  the  realities  of  the  world. 
I  will  now  tell  you  what  I  observed : 

"That  men  and  women  were  educated  systematically  and 
thoroughly  for  the  world,  and  only  formally  for  the  eternity 
beyond  it. 

"  That  while  society  affected  to  venerate  religion,  it  set  him 
down  for  a  simpleton  who  really  did  venerate  it. 

"  That  the  church  was  simply  a  temple  where  all  the  world 
assembled  on  a  stated  day  in  the  week  to  witness  the  last  tri 
umphs  of  fashion. 

"  That  it  was  an  institution  where  a  slight  moral  tone  was 
given  to  the  young  mind — just  enough  to  enable  it  to  walk  re 
spectably  through  the  world. 

"A  kind  of  market,  to  which  managing  mothers  brought  their 
marriageable  daughters  weekly  to  exhibit,  and  incite  buyers. 

"A  place  of  resort  for  young  men,  to  stare  at  women,  and  dis 
play  their  own  mental  imbecility,  impertinence,  and  bad  breed 
ing. 

"A  show-room,  where  young  women  went  every  Sabbath 
to  exhibit  their  youthful  charms,  to  smilingly  encourage  the  im- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          143 

pertinence  of  young  men,  and  to  add  to  their  own  acquaint 
ance. 

"A  forum,  from  which  the  preacher  made  weekly  exhibitions  of 
his  intellectual  acumen  and  oratorical  powers ;  from  which  he 
displayed  his  dexterity  in  depriving  religion  of  its  body,  and 
holding  up  its  naked  skeleton  to  view ;  from  which  he  preached 
the  Gospel  to  accommodate  his  patrons,  and  keep  up  an  appear 
ance  of  morality. 

"An  institution,  which  appeared  to  owe  its  construction  to  the 
mind  of  man,  and  not  to  that  of  God ;  which  seemed  to  have  been 
built  to  serve  the  interests  of  men,  and  not  those,  of  God  ;  which 
appeared  to  have  been  made  to  endorse  and  legitimate  the  hol- 
lowness,  the  hypocrisies,  the  frivolities,  and  flimsy  formalities  of 
society. 

"  This  is  what  I  observed  in  the  Church :  Reality  nowhere,  For 
mality  everywhere !  What  wonder,  then,  if,  on  seeing  all  around 
me  formal,  I  grew  insensibly  into  a  firm  belief  that  everything 
in  life  was  formal  and  unreal,  and  that  I  grew  formal  too !" 

Miriam  could  not  say.  She  had  herself  never  looked  at  reli 
gion,  or  the  Church  either,  in  that  way ;  but  she  thought  if  Mrs. 
Jones  had  at  that  time  only  asked  the  Lord  if  she  saw  them  in 
their  true  light,  that  He  would  have  answered  "  No,"  and  that 
He  would  then  have  given  her  other  and  trustier  eyes,  which 
would  have  enabled  her  to  take  of  them  a  very  different  view. 
She  said  that  humanity  was  naturally  frail  and  weak,  and  that 
our  Heavenly  Father,  in  His  great  compassion,  had  given  them 
religion  to  make  them  firm  and  strong  ;  that  they  were  liable  to 
err,  and  that  religion  pointed  out  the  only  path  of  right ;  that 
they  were  prone  to  guile,  but  that  religion  made  them  pure ; 
that  they  were  proud,  and  hard,  and  bold,  but  that  religion 
made  them  meek,  and  kind,  and  gentle ;  that  they  were  cold  and 
selfish,  but  that  religion  made  them  mild-  and  open  as  riv.  da.v  to 
melting  charity ;  that  the  Church  *~~ 


144          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

good  and  gentle  walked  on  their  road  to  heaven ;  that  the  min 
ister  was  one  of  Jehovah's  angels  to  point  out  to  them  the  way ; 
and  that  if  they  heeded  not  His  teachings,  His  warnings,  or  His 
pleadings,  and  walked  a  wholly  different  path,  that  the  fault  would 
be  with  them,  and  not  at  all  with  Him,  in  the  great  judgment-day. 

"  '  I  am  the  way  and  the  life,'  "  quoted  Miriam.  "Ah,  would 
you  but  believe  in  that,  Mrs.  Jones — I'm  sure  you'd  find  a  com 
fort  in  it  which  may  not  be  found  in  the  world.  The  heart  that 
is  in  sorrow,  it  relieves ;  the  head  that  is  bowed  down,  it  lifts  up  ; 
the  mind  that  is  in  darkness,  it  illumines ;  and  the  spirit  that  is 
weak,  it  makes  strong." 

The  proud  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  Too  late — too  late !"  she  observed.  "  My  heart  is  too  hard 
ened  and  embittered  by  the  world  !" 

"  Oh,  say  not  so,  dear  Mrs.  Jones.  Were  it  more  obdurate 
than  steel,  or  iron,  or  rock,  or  anything  that  is  hard,  it  would 
break  up  and  melt,  and  overflow  with  sweetness  at  His  word ! 
Dear  friend,  let  us  ask  Him,  like  little  children,  on  our  knees,  to 
be  gracious,  and  His  goodness  will  descend,  in  a  stream,  to  your 
soul !" 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  coldly,  and  in  doubt.  "  The  training  of 
my  life  was  not  for  heaven,  but  THE  WORLD." 

"But  faith — ever  so  small  a  grain — will  undo  it  all,  Mrs. 
Jones,  and  put  you  in  the  heavenly  way  !" 

"  Faith  f  repeated  the  woman,  her  eyes  flashing  with  mingled 
terror  and  derision.  "  Faith !  I  have  none.  The  little  that  I 
possessed  when  a  child,  society  robbed  me  of  long  ago ;  not  all 
at  once — Oh  no,  society  is  subtler  than  that ! — but  slowly,  imper 
ceptibly,  now  a  little  and  then  a  little,  until  it  had  niched  it  all, 
by  degrees.  Faith  ?  Society  allows  its  victims  no  faith,  except 
in — itself !  Faith  in  coldness,  in  frivolities,  in  appearances,  in  per 
missible  frauds,  in  excusable  falsehoods,  in  conventional  deceits, 
in  utter  belief  in  unbelief,  in  confidence  in  non-confidence,  in 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  145 

hollow  pomps,  in  veneered  piety,  in  skeletons  only !  Faith  !  So 
ciety  taught  me  to  have  faith  in  family  pride,  in  a  brilliant  posi 
tion,  in  a  fair  outside,  in  the  all-importance  of  wealth  and  an 
imposing  appearance.  It  taught  me  how  to  sigh  becomingly, 
how  to  smile  becomingly,  how  to  weep,  walk,  dance,  sing,  pray, 
flirt  and  laugh,  becomingly ;  how  to  go  to  church,  to  the  opera, 
and  to  the  theatre,  becomingly  ;  how  to  dress,  and  eat,  and  drink, 
becomingly ;  how  to  enter  a  church,  a  drawing-room,  a  ball-room, 
and  a  thousand  other  places,  with  an  air.  How  to  listen  to  known 
liars,  and  affect  implicit  belief  in  every  word  they  uttered.  How 
to  receive  professional  libertines  and  retired  fraudulent  bankrupts — 
as  if  the  first  were  gentlemen,  and  the  second  honest  men.  How 
to  veil  anguish  beneath  a  cheerful  smile;  indifference,  with  an 
aspect  of  intense  interest.  How,  in  fine,  to  become  a  thorough 
bred  hypocrite,  like  the  world ;  to  follow  it  in  its  habits  and 
deceits ;  to  join  in  its  solemn  mockeries  and  hollow  pomps ;  to 
crown  successful  Knavery  with  honors,  simple  Honesty  with 
sneers ;  to  worship  the  gilded  Seeming,  mock  at  the  homely  Real ; 
and,"  she  added,  with  a  sarcastic  laugh,,  "  to  glide  down  the  broad 
road  to  everlasting  perdition,  FASHIONABLY,  GRACEFULLY,  AND  RE 
SPECTABLY  !" 

Miriam  shuddered.  Her  companion  observed  it,  and  remarked, 
in  a  hollow  voice — 

"  There  is,  therefore,  as.  you  see,  girl,  but  little  hope  for  one 
like  me !" 

"Nay,  I  think  not  so,"  returned  Miriam,  rising,  however, 
with  an  uneasiness  which  she  made  no  effort  to  conceal.  "  The 
Lord  is  very  full  of  goodness ;  and  He  will  gladly  help  you,  if 
you  will  only  let  Him.  *  Ask,  and  you  shall  receive,'  He  says. 
Why  will  you  not  ask  Him,  dear  Mrs.  Jones  ?  He  will  listen 
like  a  father,  and  His  Son,  the  Prince,  will  come  and  bring  you 
comfort  like  a  friend.  Do  ask  Him,  now — won't  you?" 


14:6          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

-  "  I'll  think  of  it,"  returned  the  other,  musingly.  "  Yes,  I'll 
think  of  it!" 

"  Ah,  thank  you — thank  you  !"  cried  Miriam,  embracing  her. 
"  You  will  be  so  happy,  then — so  very,  very  happy  !" 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Miriam !"  said  the  unhappy  woman, 
hoarsely,  as  she  pressed  her  to  her  bosom.  "  And  one  of  these 
days,  when  my  husband  returns,  and  we  are  all  settled  again 
once  more,  you  and  I,  Mirry,  will  see  what  we  can  do  towards 
leading  little  Ada  here  in  the  right  path !  She,  at  least,"  added 
the  woman,  with  a  shudder,  "  shall  not  worship  skeletons  !" 

"  So  we  will — so  we  will !"  cried  Miriam,  joyfully.  "  And 
now,  dear  Mrs.  Jones,  I  must  go.  I  promised  aunt  to  return  in 
an  hour,  and  I  fear  she  will  be  uneasy.  But  before  I  go,  I  want 
you  to  grant  me  two  favors !" 

"A  thousand,  Miriam.    I  can  deny  you  nothing.    Name  them." 

"You  must  let  me  lend  you  some  money.  You  can  return  it 
to  me  again,  you  know,  when  Mr.  Jones  comes  back.  Ah !  now, 
don't  look  cold  again  on  your  poor  Mirry — don't.  It  will  make 
me  so  happy.  There  is  no  indignity  in  borrowing,  is  there  ? 
Do  take  it,  now,  and  I'll  promise  to  borrow  some  of  you  when 
Mr.  Jones  returns — do,  now,  won't  you  1  I  shall  be  miserable  if 
you  refuse !" 

"  Well,  then — "  said  the  proud  woman,  reluctantly,  "  I  will 
break  my  resolution  :  what  is  the  amount  ?" 

"  Fifty  dollars !"  said  Miriam.  "  It  is  not  much  ;  but  you 
can  borrow  another  fifty  when  this  is  gone,  you  know  :  and  no 
body  will  be  aware  of  it  but  ourselves.  Dear,  dear — won't  that 
be  nice !" 

Mrs.  Jones  surveyed  the  artless  being  before  her  for  a  few 
moments  with  an  unsteady  eye,  a  quivering  lip,  and  a  heaving 
breast.  Then  murmuring — "And  but  for  the  skeleton  usages  of 
society,  I  might  have  been  like  her !"  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jones !"  exclaimed  Miriam,  throwing  her  arms 

* 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          147 

around  her  neck  and  kissing  her  affectionately,  "  don't  cry — 
don't !  Forgive  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you  by  offering 
you  the  money — I  really  didn't.  You  can  return  it  whenever 
you  like,  after  Mr.  Jones  comes  back,  you  know.  Now  don't 
cry — there's  a  good  soul.  You  will  make  me  so  happy,  if  you 
only  won't !" 

"  You  musn't  make  my  mamma  cry  !"  cried  little  Ada,  tug 
ging  with  energy  at  Miriam's  frock.  "  Go  away,  do,  and  let  my 
mamma  be !" 

"  Dear  Ada,"  said  Miriam,  releasing  herself  from  Mrs.  Jones, 
and  catching  up  the  child,  "  I  wouldn't  make  mamma  cry  for  the 
world.  Would  I,  mamma '?" 

"  Miriam  loves  your  mamma,  Ada !"  said  the  mother,  with  an 
effort.  "  She  don't  make  mamma  cry ;  mamma  cries  for  her 
self." 

"  Mamma  musn't  cry  !"  said  the  child.  "  It  makes  Ada  feel 
bad — here !  Baby  don't  like  to  feel  bad,  mamma ;  makes  her 
cry  !" 

"Mamma  won't,  then,  darling!"  said  the  mother,  smiling 
through  her  tears. 

Baby  looked  as  if  she  had  her  doubts,  and  said  no  more,  but 
was  very  watchful,  for  all  that. 

"I  was  not  crying  about  the  money,  Miriam,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones,  yielding  to  the  caresses  of  baby ;  "  but  at  a  thought 
which  struck  me  at  the  moment.  And  now  for  your  second 
wish  1" 

"  That  you  will  kindly  permit  me  to  call  again  to-night,  with 
Aunt  Townsend,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Leland,"  said  Miriam,  with  a 
slight  glow.  "I  am  not  quite  so  sure  of  him:  although  I  would 
very  much  like  to  have  him  come,"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  "  He 
is  so  good,  and — you  would  like  him  so  !" 

"  Granted,  Miriam.  Call,  both  of  you — all  of  you — as  often 
as  you  will !" 


148         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

A  TUJ  of  joy  animated  Miriam's  handsome  countenance. 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Jones — you  make  me  so  happy  with  your 
kindness !"  she  cried,  "  I  shall  always  remember  it.  Good 
bye  !"  she  continued,  embracing  her  and  baby  both  at  once. 
"  Good-bye— good-bye,  Ada  !" 

And  Miriam  tore  herself  away — hastily  wiping  her  eyes  as  she 
fled  from  the  apartment. 

She  paused  a  moment  on  the  landing  to  recover  her  self- 
possession,  and  then  slowly  descended  the  stairs. 

Upon  reaching  the  yard,  she  found  the  ever-cheerful  laundress 
working  away  with  right  good-will,  and  singing  gayly  as  before  : 

"  '  My  God,  I  know,  I  feel  thee  mine, 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
And  will  not  quit  my  claim, 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
Till  all  I  have  is  lost  in  thine, 

— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
And  all  renewed  I  am.'  " 

Miriam  waited  till  the  stanza  was  concluded,  and  then  laid  her 
hand  gently  on  the  singer's  shoulder. 

Mrs.  Farley  looked  around. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  miss  1  How  d'ye  do  again  ?  Are  you 
going  7" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  smile.  "  But  I  want  to  know 
your  name?" 

"  Oh,  dear — is  that  all  ?"  said  the  good  creature,  laughing. 
"  Farley." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miriam.  "  Mine  is  Miriam.  You  and  I 
must  get  acquainted,  Mrs.  Farley.  I  see  you  are  one  of  our 
Prince's  people !" 

Mrs.  Farley  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  surprise.  Sud 
denly,  however,  her  mild  features  became  radiant  with  delight. 

It  was  with  an  intuitive  perception  of  Miriam's  meaning. 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  149 

The  eyes  of  the  pair  met,  and  sparkled  with  mutual  gladness. 

For  each  recognized  in  the  other  an  humble,  sincere  sister  in 
Christ ;  and  the  cordial  bond  of  Christian  sympathy  united  them 
in  heart. 

A  smile  of  singular  sweetness  passed  between  them ;  and  a 
brief  silence  followed,  as  if  their  joy  was  too  great  for  utter 
ance. 

It  was  as  an  unexpected  meeting  of  two  pilgrims  bound  for 
the  same  pleasant  goal. 

Their  joy  at  length  found  vent  in  a  mutual  sigh. 

"  Oh,  dear !"  cried  Mrs.  Farley,  "  you  make  me  very  happy." 

"  And  you  make  me  happy,  too,"  said  Miriam.  "  I  shall  come 
and  see  you  very  often,  Mrs.  Farley." 

"  Do — dp  !"  cried  the  laundress.  "  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see 
you  !" 

"  Thank  you — thank  you  ;  I  shall  be  here  to-night  with  a 
friend  or  two,  and  then  we'll  have  a  happy  time." 

"  Dear,  dear, — so  we  will !" 

"  Then  good-bye  for  the  present !" 

»"  Good-bye — good-bye  !" 
And  these  two  simple  hearts,  of  only  a  moment's  acquaint 
ance,  kissed  each  other  as  cordially  as  if  they  had  been  friends 
for  many  years. 

As  Miriam  turned  into  the  alley,  the  cheerful  voice  of  the 
pious  laundress  fell  on  her  ear — 

"  I  hold  thee  with  a  trembling  hand, 
— A-  rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 

And  will  not  let  thee  go  ; 
— A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
Till  steadfastly  by  faith  I  stand, 
—A-rippy  dippy,  dip,  dip,  dip — 
And  all  thy  goodness  know." 


CHAPTER   I  X 

MIRIAM  returned  home  with  an  air  of  mingled  thought  and 
sadness.  On  her  way  through  the  hall  to  her  chamber,  her  aunt 
observed  her  from  the  drawing-room. 

"  Poor  girl !"  murmured  the  latter.  "  Something  has  dis 
turbed  her." 

Mrs.  Townsend  waited  awhile  for  Miriam  to  come  down  ;  but 
as  the  latter  did  not  make  her  appearance,  her  aunt  ascended 
anxiously  to  her  chamber. 

She  found  Miriam  upon  her  knees  in  silent  prayer. 

"  What  is  it,  Mirry  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  Dear  aunt,"  said  Miriam,  rising,  "  our  old  acquaintance,  Mrs. 
Jones,  is  in  deep  trouble,  and  I  have  been  appealing  to  Our 
Friend  for  her." 

"  You  have  been  to  see  her  ?" 

"Yes,  aunt." 

And  Miriam  narrated  all  the  details  of  her  interview  with 
the  unhappy  woman. 

"  You  see,  therefore,  dear  aunt,"  said  Miriam  in  conclusion, 
"  that  we  must  do  something  for  the  poor  lady,  in  addition  to 
securing  her  from  want.  We  must  pray  for  her." 

Mrs.  Townsend  made  no  reply,  and  Miriam  added — 

"  The  world  has  dealt  hardly  with  her.  It  has  cruelly  pre 
pared  her  for  life's  sunshine  only  ;  when  want  and  affliction  come, 
she  has  nothing  to  lean  on.  While  fortune  remains  true,  she  is 
strong ;  when  it  fails,  she  fails  too.  The  ground  glides  away 
from  under  her  ;  she  looks  about  her  for  something — a  rope,  a 


WHICH:   THE* EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         151 

tree-branch,  or  a  creeping  vine,  for  safety ;  but  in  vain — all  is 
ruin,  chaos :  and  she  feels  herself  going  down,  amid  sinking 
earth  and  crumbling,  toppling  rocks,  into  a  dark  gulf  of  unknown 
depths,  whose  loud  roar  and  deafening  din  drown  her  despairing 
cries.  O,  aunt,  why  will  the  world  go  on  thus — why  will  it 
school  its  people  thus  1  Are  souls  nothing  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  aunt,  "  the  world  is  very  bad  ;  but  it  is  its 
people  who  make  it  so.  If  parents  did  their  duty  better,  their 
children  would  be  better,  the  world  better.  But  neither  parents 
nor  the  world  are  alone  to  blame.  Individuals  are  equally  account 
able.  Every  man  can  distinguish  right  from  wrong,  and  every 
woman,  too ;  and  if  they  persist  in  the  wrong,  they  must  abide  the 
consequences.  There  are  too  many  who,  like  Mrs.  Jones,  having 
no  other  excuse  for  their  moral  delinquencies,  are  only  too  glad  to 
attribute  them  to  the  world.  The  world  is  bad  enough,  I  admit ; 
but  it  is  the  Mrs.  Joneses  who  make  it  so ;  and  when  they 
get  pushed  into  a  corner,  instead  of  crying  over  their  own  follies, 
they  exclaim.  '  The  world  !  the  world !'  All  this  is  very  low, 
very  vulgar,  and  very  silly.  Let  individuals  do  their  individual 
duties,  and  the  world  will  get  along  well  enough." 

"  But,  dear  aunt,  if  individuals  do  not  do  their  duty,  is  it 
not  our  duty  to  do  something  for  them  *?" 

"  There  are  persons  employed  by  the  '  world,'  as  Mrs.  Jones 
calls  it,  for  that  very  purpose.  Ministers  and  colporteurs,  for 
instance.  Than  we  have  extensive  moral  organizations,  whose 
numerous  agents  are  continually  penetrating  all  classes  of  so 
ciety  ;  presses,  too,  sending  forth  their  Gospel  messengers,  daily, 
to  all  parts  of  the  earth,  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  Mrs.  Joneses, 
and  prevent  them  from  going  astray.  If,  in  spite  of  all  these, 
they  will  go  headlong  to  destruction,  who  is  to  blame1?  The 
world'?  Certainly  not.  The  world,  with  all  its  skeletons,  all  its 
veneered  piety,  and  all  its  solemn  mockeries,  does  all  it  can  to 
prevent  it." 


152  WHICH:    THE  KiGHf,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  All,  aunt  ?" 

"  All  it  can  reasonably  be  expected  to — yes." 

Miriam  hung  down  her  head  sorrowfully,  like  one  who  was  far 
from  convinced. 

Mrs.  Townsend  observed  her,  and  said — 

"  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  Mirry?" 

"  I  have  a  thought  which  will  not  let  me,  dear  aunt,"  said 
Miriam. 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

Miriam  hesitated. 
.."  You  will  think  me  over  bold,  dear  aunt !"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  Nay,  my  dear,  out  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  a  kindlier 
tone  than  she  had  yet  used.  "  It  will  give*  me  great  pleasure  to 
hear  your  objections,  if  they  are  well  founded ;  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  equally  gratified  to  have  them  swept  away,  if  they 
emanate  from  a  wrong  conception.  Say  on,  Mirry !" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  ventured  Miriam,  "  that  the  world,  for  all 
its  charities,  is  still  in  serious  error.  Of  what  avail  its  generous 
support  of  preachers  and  presses,  if  it  fail  to  second  their  efforts  ? 
Precept  is  but  of  little  moment,  if  example  be  not  hand  in  hand 
with  it.  The  preacher  struggles  in  vain,  and  the  presses  send 
forth  but  dead  messengers,  if  society  follow  them  not  up  with 
its  own  example." 

"  What  would  you  have  society  do,  Mirry  ?" 

"  For  its  own  sake,  this  : — When  it  says  :  We  support  the 
Gospel  with  our  money,  let  it  support  it  also  with  its  deport 
ment.  When  it  says  :  We  hear  the  Gospel  every  Sabbath,  and 
believe  it,  let  it  act  up  to  its  belief,  as  if  it  really  did  believe  it. 
What  kind  of  righteousness  is  that  which  plans  a  great  fraud 
on  Saturday,  goes  to  church  on  Sunday,  and  executes  it — the 
fraud — on  Monday  1  Or  that  which  says,  I  believe  in  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  yet  does  the  very  things  which  the  Savioui 
bids  him  not  do?  Or  that  which  says,  I  believe  not  in  wicked 


WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          153 

ness,  and  yet  associates  with,  and  thereby  countenances,  wicked 
ness  ?  Dear  aunt,  where  will  all  this  end  V 

"Mirry,  dear,  I  fear  you  have  been  imbibing  some  of  the 
poisonous  opinions  of  Mrs.  Jones !" 

"  Dear  aunt,  do  not  say  so.  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me 
very  bold ;  but  I  could  not  help  it.  The  thought  would  come. 
Poor  Mrs.  Jones  herself  made  me  think  of  it.  It  was  this 
kind  of  righteousness  which  encouraged  her  in  her  own  wrong 
views,  which  she  now  so  mournfully  deplores.  Say  society 
had  set  a  better  example  to  her  husband,  would  he  now  be 
fleeing  with  the  money  that  belongs  to  his  creditors,  would  his 
poor  lady  be  suffering  for  his  error,  would  society  be  holding  up 
its  hands  in  horror  at  his  conduct  ?  Oh,  dear  aunt,  we  must 
do  something  more  than  we  are  doing.  I  almost  feel  as  if  it 
were  my  duty  to  go  out  into  the  highway  and  plead  the  cause 
of  Christ !" 

"  And  be  laughed  at  for  your  enthusiasm,  Mirry  !" 

"  I  could  endure  that,  if  I  could  only  rescue  a  single  soul  from 
misery.  When  I  think  of  poor  Mrs.  Jones,  dear  aunt,  I  am 
filled  with  terror.  Say  she  should  not  repent — what  then  ?  And 
yet  society  is  preparing  millions  every  year  for  an  existence 
equally  as  sad  and  hopeless  as  hers !  And  should  they  never 
repent — WHAT  then  ?  Oh,  aunt — you  are  good  and  wise — you 
have  position,  means,  and  influence.  The  world  knows  your 
piety,  goodness,  and  earnestness — and  it  will  listen  to  you. 
Speak  to  it  in  some  way.  Tell  it  how  it  is  wandering  away 
itself,  and  how  it  is  leading  astray  millions  of  other  hearts  who 
are  governed  solely  by  its  example.  And  I,  dear  aunt — I  will 
stand  behind  you,  beside  you,  or  before  you,  as  you  may  think 
best,  to  second  you,  in  my  poor  humble  way." 

And  as  she  spoke,  Miriam  threw  her  arms  around  htr  aunt's 
neck,  and  sobbed  like  a  little  child. 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  moved.  She  looked  down  upon  tha 
7* 


154          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

simple  girl,  who  was  nestling,  in  all  the  confidence  of  innocence, 
upon  her  breast,  with  a  troubled  eye. 

"  And  but  for  a  proud,  frivolous  mother,  and  a  proud,  frivolous 
world,  I  too  might  have  been  as  pure  and  sinless  as  this  young, 
artless  heart !"  she  murmured.  "  Oh,  mother  !  if  thy  spirit  be 
around  me,  hear  me.  Thou  might'st  have  devoted  thy  daughter 
to  something  higher  than  society ;  thou  might'st  have  imbued 
her  young  mind  with  nobler  aspirations  than  those  which  centre 
upon  a  hollow  world !  But,  Miriam  !  thou,  at  least  shalt  not  be 
sacrificed.  Worldling  as  I  am,  I'll  stand  faithfully  by  thee  !" 

Then  clearing  her  throat,  which  was  husky  with  emotion,  she 
said  aloud — 

"  My  darling,  we'll  think  more  of  this.  I  agree  with  you, 
that  something  should  and  might  be  done  to  stir  up  society  from 
its  worship  of  skeletons.  We  will  think  it  over.  In  the  mean 
while,  let  us  turn  our  attention  to  this  affair  of  Mrs.  Jones.  If 
we  can  rescue  her  from  temporal  want,  that  will  be  a  good 
point  gained.  Let  us  see.  Her  present  necessities  must  be  our 
first  care.  Suppose  we  can  get  ten  persons  to  subscribe  one 
dollar  per  week  each  for  the  next  three  months — that  will  be  ten 
dollars  per  week — enough,  in  all  conscience,  to  give  her  a  fair 
support,  and  to  enable  her  to  look  around  for  herself.  Before 
the  three  months  shall  have  expired,  she  will  either  have  been 
joined  by  her  husband,  in  which  case  she  will  be  in  no  further 
need  of  assistance,  or  she  will  have  settled  upon  some  plan  for 
the  future." 

"  All  this  is  very  good,  dear  aunt,  only  we  forget  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  The  poor  lady's  pride.  How  shall  we  get  her  to  accept  of 
the  money  ?" 

"  O,  we'll  easily  manage  that,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs. 
Townsend,  with  a  smile. 

Miriam  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.          155 

"  There  are  two  ways,"  said  her  aunt.  "  Through  Samuel, 
who  has  a  winning  method  of  subduing  pride ;  should  he  fail, 
then  through  Mrs.  Farley,  the  laundress,  who  will  readily  join 
our  Jittle  conspiracy,  since  it  has  for  its  object  the  doing  of  good 
to  one  who  might  otherwise  be  a  burden  upon  herself.  And 
we  must  go  about  this  matter  at  once,  too,  Mirry,  as  I  judge, 
from  what  you  have  told  me  of  the  unhappy  woman's  opinion 
of  Isabella,  that  her  proud  spirit  will  not  let  her  touch  a  fraction 
of  the  hundred  dollars  which  your  cousin  left  her :  and  Mrs. 
Jones  must  therefore  be  in  immediate  want." 

"  No,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  slight  glow,  "  I  think  not  in  imme 
diate  want — that  is,  I  believe  she  can  get  along  for  a  few  days, 
at  least !" 

Miriam,  in  narrating  the  particulars  of  her  interview  with  the 
fraudulent  bankrupt's  wife,  had  modestly  omitted  to  mention, 
or  even  to  hint,  of  her  own  benevolent  act. 

Her  aunt  smiled.  She  understood  the  artless  being  before 
her,  and  read  the  secrets  of  her  simple  heart  as  plainly  as  her 
own. 

"  In  that  case,  my  dear,"  she  said,  delicately  avoiding  any  allu 
sion  to  the  point  which  the  instii«tive  modesty  of  her  niece 
shrunk  from  mentioning,  "  we  shall  have  ample  time  to  arrange 
our  plan  and  carry  it  into  effect.  The  next  consideration  is  our 
business  of  to-night.  Samuel  must,  of  course,  accompany  us. 
But  how  can  we  manage  it,  with  Isabella  in  the  way"?" 

Miriam's  face  crimsoned.  Her  aunt,  however,  affected  not  to 
notice  it,  and  continued — 

"  Let  me  think— let  me  think.  Ah  !  I  have  it.  I'll  fix  it  all 
at  tea,  and  in  a  manner  which  will  prevent  Isabella  from  enter 
taining  any  hard  thoughts  of  you.  Yes ;  I  have  it.  So,  set 
your  mind  at  rest,  Mirry,  and  hold  yourself  in  readiness  to 
accompany  us.  We  will  start  at  seven  o'clock." 

"  Dear,  dear  aunt — you  are  so  good  !" 


v,  «    «  . 

- 


CHAPTER     X. 

AT  a  little  later  period  in  the  day,  that  is  to  say,  about  two 
hours  after  Miriam  had  taken  her  departure,  a  proud,  flaringly 
attired  female  sailed  up  the  alley  leading  to  the  humble  apart 
ments  of  the  laundress.  She  swept  into  the  yard,  and  looked 
around  her  with  an  air  of  mingled  hauteur  and  disgust.  Every 
feature  was  alive  with  uneasiness,  every  movement  with  over 
bearing  insolence. 

Her  wandering  eye  fell  at  length  upon  a  little  humpbacked 
boy,  who  was  sitting  in  a  doorway  on  the  left.  He  was  poorly 
but  cleanly  clad.  The  complexion  of  his  oval  face  was  of  a 
faint  brown.  His  mild,  brown  eyes  were  large,  and  full  of 
thought.  His  head  was  supported  in  his  left  hand,  the  elbow 
resting  on  his  knee.  He  regarded  the  stranger  with  an  abstracted 
air,  which  told  that  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

"  Frightful !"  exclaimed  £he  female,  as  she  turned  her  eyes 
upon  the  boy.  "  The  nastiest,  dismallest  hole  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  Breeds  nothing  but  dirt,  filth,  and  humpbacked  children. 
What  a  shocking  place !  It's  enough  to  make  one  sick.  Ugh ! 
It  sets  me  all  in  a  shiver !" 

The  voice  of  the  speaker  was  sharp  and  shrill.  It' was  lost, 
however,  upon  the  boy,  whose  mind  was  still  roaming. 

"  The  thing  is  a  fool !"  said  the  stranger,  in  her  high-keyed 
tones.  Then  drawing  nearer  to  the  lad,  she  added,  sharply^ 
*'  Don't  you  hear  1  A  lady  is  speaking  to  you !" 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  boy  looked  up  at  the  "  lady"  with  his 
mild,  thoughtful  eyes,  and  said,  in  a  voice  which  was  as  soft  and 
gentle  as  a  girl's — 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          157 

"  Did  you  speak,  ma'am  V 

"  Did  I  ?  you  ugly,  impertinent,  brazen  little  hunchback !  Was 
there  ever  such  assurance !  Is  that  the  way  your  mother  brings 
you  up  1  But  it's  so  with  all  low  people.  They  have  no  more 
idea  of  decency  or  politeness  than  wild  beasts!" 

The  mild,  thoughtful  eyes  of  the  boy  flashed  with  indignation 
at  the  unfeeling  insult.  The  resentment  was  but  momentary, 
however.  It  fell  back,  timidly,  as  it  were,  to  the  unhappy  soul 
from  which  it  had  escaped,  as  if  it  had  not  nerve  enough  to 
maintain  itself  in  the  presence  of  another.  An  instant  later? 
there  appeared,  swimming  about  in  those  clear,  brown,  molten 
orbs,  two  wandering  spirits  :  one  of  solemn  sadness,  another 
of  mournful  reproach;  and  both  would  have  told  any  other 
than  the  cold,  frivolous  creature  before  him,  that  the  soul  of  the 
poor  timid  boy  was  weeping. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  me,  you  saucy  imp  1"  demanded  the 
woman,  in  her  highest  key. 

"  What  shall  I  say,  ma'am  ?"  asked  the  boy,  shrinking  back, 
as  if  in  dread  of  a  blow  from  some  quarter. 

"  Where  can  I  find  a  Mrs.  Jones "?  She  lives  here  somewhere 
in  this  horrid  place,  don't  she  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Jones  lives  up  stairs,  with  my  mother,"  said  the  boy, 
timidly. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  say  so  before,  you  little  wretch  !  and 
not  keep  a  lady  in  this  nasty  dirty  mud  all  day  V  cried  the  wo 
man,  brushing  past  him  and  darting  up  the  staircase. 

The  boy  drew  back,  in  alarm,  against  the  wall,  as  she  swept 
by ;  when  she  had  disappeared  above,  he  resumed  his  seat  on  the 
door-step,  bowed  his  head  upon  his  smail,  slender  knees,  and 
wept  silently.  As  he  sat  thus,  a  gentle  hand  was  laid  softly 
on  his  shoulder.  He  looked  up,  and  beheld  his  mother,  the 
laundress,  before  him. 

She  had  been  out  for  a  few  minutes,  to  take  hom»  some  work. 


158          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Bobby,  darling  ?"  said  the  laundress,  in 
a  troubled  voice. 

"  Oh,  mother !"  cried  the  boy,  springing  to  his  feet,  catching 
hold  of  her  frock,  as  if  for  protection,  and  looking  up  imploringly 
in  her  face,  "  I  want  to  die.  Ask  the  Lord  to  let  me  die,  mother. 
They  hurt  rne  so  here  !" 

"  Who  hurts  you,  dear  V  said  the  laundress,  stooping  down 
and  impressing  a  kiss  upon  his  soft  cheek.  "  Who  hurts  you, 
dear  ?" 

"  Everybody,"  sobbed  the  boy.  "  They  hit  me  and  call  me 
names.  I  cannot  bear  it.  My  heart  is  breaking.  Feel,"  he 
said,  taking  her  hand  and  laying  it  upon  his  throbbing  breast, 
"  how  it  pains.  I  want  to  die  and  go  away  from  here.  Mother, 
ask  the  Lord  to  let  me  die  !" 

"  Poor  dear,  poor  dear  !"  said  Mrs.  Farley,  soothingly.  "  Was 
it  some  wicked  boy  ]" 

"  No,  ma'  ;  a  lady — she's  gone  up  stairs — to — see — Mrs. 
Jones,"  cried  the  child. 

"  A  lady,  darling  1     A  lady  wouldn't  do  so !" 

"  She  called  me  —  names !"  gulped  the  boy.  "  She  said  I 
was  an — ugly  hunchback,  and — and — a  little  wretch.  She  did, 
mother !" 

"  Poor  dear — poor  dear !  She  didn't  mean  it.  She  didn't 
mean  it,  surely  !"  said  the  laundress,  struggling  with  her  feelings. 

"  I  cannot  help  being  an  ugly  little  hunchback — can,  I  mother? 
The  Lord  made  me  what  I  am — didn't  He,  mother  T1 

"Well,  darling?" 

"Then  why  do 'they  call  me  names  and  hit  me.  mother1?  I 
don't  hit  them — I  don't  call  them  names  !" 

The  unhappy  laundress  could  not  answer.  Her  heart  was 
bleeding  for  her  poor  timid  boy. 

"  I  can't  fight,  mother.  I  can't  even  bear  to  hurt  a  %.  I 
haven't  the  heart.  It  makes  me  cry  to  see  another  in  pain.'  Then 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  159 

•what  does  everybody  make  fun  of  me,  and  hit  me,  for  1  Didn't 
the  Lord  make  me  as  well  as  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  Bobby,  dear." 

"  But  I  can't  fight,  mother,  and  that  is  why  they  hit  me  and 
call  me  names.  They  don't  hit  boys  who  can  fight.  There's 
Georgy  Thompson,  he  can  fight  when  he's  a  mind  to,  and  they 
don't  hit  him  /" 

"  Does  Georgy  Thompson  hit  you,  dear  ?" 

"  No,  ma' ;  Georgy's  a  good  boy,  and  the  ofher  boys  don't 
hit  me  either  when  he  is  by.  They  dassent.  Georgy  won't 
let  'em  !" 

"  Georgy  is  a  good  boy — aint  he,  Bobby  ?" 

"  I  guess  he  is !  But  then,  ma',  Georgy  can't  be  near  me  all 
the  time.  I  wish  he  could,  and  then  I  wouldn't  be  afraid." 

"  And  why  are  you  afraid,  dear  ?  Why  don't  you  get  brave, 
like  Georgy  Thompson,  and  then  nobody  would  dare  to  hit 
you  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  it,  ma'.  My  heart  won't  let  me.  I  always  am 
afraid.  The  Lord  made  me  so.  I  can't  help  it.  And  they  all 
know  it,  and  that's  the  reason  why  they  hit  me,  and  call  me 
names." 

"  Poor  dear — poor  dear  !"  cried  his  mother,  with  an  unsuc 
cessful  effort  to  stifle  her  own  sobs. 

"And  therefore,  ma,"  said  the  poor  boy,  imploringly,  "  I  want 
to  go  away  from  here.  I  want  to  go  and  live  among  the  angels, 
mother ;  away  up  there — in  heaven.  Ask  the  Lord  if  He  won't 
let  me,  mother — ask  Him  to  let  me  die !" 

"  My  child — my  child  !  you'll  break  my  heart !" 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so,  mother.     I  don't  want  to  do  that." 

"  But  if«ppou  go  away,  Bobby,  what  will  become  of  me  ?" 

"  Let  us  go  together,  ma'.  The  Lord  will  let  us  both  in.  Won't 
He?" 

"  Yes,  darling.     But  we  must  wait  till  He  calls  us." 


100  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

"  But  He'll  call  us  now,  mother,  if  you  ask  Him.  Won't  He  ?" 

The  wretched  mother  could  not  answer.  She  pressed  her  sim 
ple  boy  to  her  breast,  with  indescribable  anguish. 

"  Tell  him  little  Bobby  wants  to  go,"  whispered  the  child,  as  he 
twined  his  small,  thin  arms,  aroun  d  her  neck,  "  tell  Him  little 
Bobby  wants  to  go  among  the  angels,  because  everybody  hurts 
him  down  here,  and  calls  him  cruel  names.  And  tell  Him  you 
want  to  go,  too,  and  then  He  will  let  us  both  in  together.  And 
then  we'll  see  father,  mother,  and  then  we'll  all  be  happy  once 
more!" 

The  unhappy  mother  groaned. 

"  Why  do  you  cry,  mother  1  Wouldn't  it  make  you  happy  to 
see  father  ?  He  was  a  good  man,  wasn't  he  1  Don't  you  re 
member  how  he  always  used  to  kiss  us  when  he  came  home 
from  work,  and  how  he  used  to  take  us  out  a- walking  every 
summer  night,  and  tell  us  such  pretty  things  on  the  way  ?  Oh, 
I  remember  it  all,  mother — don't  you  ?" 

The  poor  laundress  sat  down  upon  the  door-step,  and  taking 
the  boy  in  her  lap,  pressed  him,  in  silence,  to  her  bosom ;  for  the 
poor  thing  could  not  spe*ak. 

"  Don't  squeeze  Bobby  so,  ma' !  It  hurts,"  said  the  child. 
"  How  the  sun  is  shining  down  upon  us,  now — how  very  nice 
and  warm!  It  would  be  a  bright  world  to  live  in,"  added  the 
little  prattler,  "if  the  boys  were  only  good,  and  wouldn't  hurt 
me,  nor  call  me  names.  I  like  to  feel  the  sun  upon  my  breast ; 
it  makes  me  warm  and  happy.  I  like  to  see  it  shining  on  the 
grass,  and  on  the  flowers,  and  on  the  water,  and  on  everything, 
mother,  because  it  seems  to  make  them  cheerful ;  and,  then,  it 
makes  me  cheerful  too.  Do  you  remember  what  father  used  to 
call  the  sun,  mother  ?"  &W&- 

The  poor  laundress  shook  her  head.  Perhaps  she  had  not 
heard  him. 

"  He  called  it  God's  Eye,  mother.    He  used  to  say  that  it  saw 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.  161 

everywhere,  and  that  we  ought  always  to  be  very  careful,  because 
it  was  upon  us  all  the  time.  And  I  guess  it's  true,  too.  It  is 
upon  us  all  the  time ;  but  the  boys  don't  mind  it  much,  do 
they  ?  They  make  fun  of  me  and  hit  me,  all  the  same  as  if  the 
Eye  was  not  looking  on  at  all !" 

"  Cheer  up,  darling — don't  be  afraid,  even  if  they  do  hurt  you. 
One  day  we  shall  all  be  Up  There,  where  no  one  will  hurt  us 
and  where  the  boys  will  not  hit  you  nor  call  you  names  any 
more." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  nice,  won't  it,  mother  ?  But  will  I  have  to 
have  the  cough  before  I  go  ?"  , 

"  The  cough,  darling  ?     What  cough  ?" 

"  The  cough  that  father  had,  before  they  took  him  away,  and 
laid  him  in  the  ground  1  Don't  you  remember  1" 

"  Oh,  Bobby,  dear — Bobby  !"  groaned  the  unhappy  mother. 

"/  do,"  said  the  boy,  knowingly.  "You  thought  I  didn't 
notice  it,  but  I  did.  He  had  it  such  a  long  time !  It  hung  to  him 
so,  I  couldn  t  help  it.  I  used  to  sit  on  my  low  stool  in  the  corner 
and  watch  him. 

"  I  couldn't  help  him — I  was  so  small  then ;  but  I  could  cry, 
and  so  I  used  to  sit  in  the  corner  and  cry  all  alone  to  myself,  as 
he  coughed.  How  he  did  cough,  though !  Oh,  dear  !  When 
you  were  away,  out  washing,  he  coughed  dreadfully.  Sometimes 
it  would  almost  bend  him  double.  But  when  God's  Eye  was  on 
him,  he  never  coughed  so  much  ;  and  that  is  why  he  liked  to  see 
the  sun  shining  through  the  window.  He  was  always  easier 
then. 

"  But  he  grew  thinner  and  thinner  every  day  ;  and  when  you 
were  out  to  work,  he'd  lay  with  his  hands  clasped,  his  eyes  turned 
up  to  the  ceiling,  and  his  lips  moving ;  telling  God  how  much  he 
thanked  Him  for  being  so  good  to  him,  for  permitting  him  to  pray 
to  Him,  for  making  him  strong  in  faith,  for  blessing  him  with 
His  rich  mercies,  for  giving  him  a  good  companion  in  life's 


162          WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

burden,  for  crowning  him  with  happiness  far  beyond  his  deserts, 
and  hoping  He  would  be  equally  good  to  those  he  left  behind, 
when  he  should  be  called  himself  away.  I  didn't  understand 
all  he  said,  but  I  heard  all  the  words,  and  they  became  fixed  upon 
my  mind. 

•  One  time — don't  you  remember,  mother? — God's  Eye  hadn't 
looked  out  for  many  days.  The  sky  was  cold  and  gray ;  and 
the  air  was  cold  and  gray,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  would 
never  shine  again.  Father  lay  upon  the  bed,  with  his  eyes  look 
ing  for  the  sun ;  but  there  was  no  sun  upon  the  roofs,  no  sun 
in  the  air ;  no  sun  in  all  the  sky.  And  then  how  father  coughed, 
and  shook !  I  fancied  I  could  hear  his  bones  rattle  every  time 
he  coughed. 

"  Oh,  how  afraid  I  was  then ! 

"  You  were  sitting  by  the  bedside,  your  eye  on  father's — and 
both  of  you  were  whiter  than,  the  snow  which  lay  then  upon  the 
ground. 

"  Father  was  breathing  faintly,  with  his  eyes  turned  anxiously 
up  at  the  sky,  looking  for  the  sun. 

"  By-and-bye  a  white  cloud,  very  small  at  first,  but  growing 
larger  by  degrees,  gathered  high  up  in  the  air;  the  air  grew 
lighter,  too,  and  milder,  and  then  the  gray  crept  silently  away ; 
then  the  white  cloud  broke,  and  the  bright  sun  came  stealing 
through :  and  then  I  looked  on  father's  face.  It  was  lit  up  with 
a  smile,  but  he  himself  was  gone,  and  God's  Eye  was  on  him  as 
he  went ! 

"  He  thought  that  he  wouldn't  cough  so  hard  if  the  sun  would 
only  shine  ;  and  when  it  shone,  he  died  ! 

"  And  this  is  why  I  ask  you,  mother,  if  I  must  have  the  cough 
before  God  will  let  me  die  ?" 

"  Dear  Bobby,  dear — poor  mother's  heart  is  breaking !  Don't 
talk  so,  darling !" 

"  Ah !  mother,  dear,  how  white  you  are — just  like  the  Clothes 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  163 

there  on  the  lines !  And  you  are  shaking,  too.  Mamma,  why  do 
you  shake  so  1  It's  so  like  me,  when  I'm  afraid."  <• 

"  My  dear,  dear  boy  !  come,  we'll  go  up  stairs  I" 

"  No,  don't  mamma  !  She  is  up  there — that  fine  lady  who 
called  me  names !" 

"  Never  mind  her,  darling.  We'll  go  in  the  other  room. 
Mamma  isn't  strong ;  she  wants  to  lie  down,  a  little  while,  on 
the  bed." 

And  with  her  poor  timid  boy  in  her  arms,  the  agitated  mother 
staggered  up  to  her  litle  room,  and  dropped,  weary,  and  sad,  and 
faint,  upon  her  humble  cot. 

Ah !  who  shall  measure  the  thoughts  called  up,  the  anguish 
or  the  sadness,  by  a  single  unkind  word  ! 


CHAPTER     XI. 

UPON  reaching  the  landing,  the  visitor  tapped  nervously  at  the 
back-room  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  well-known  voice,  and  in  another  moment 
Mrs.  Jones  was  measuring  glances  with  her  eldest  sister. 

"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  your  presence]" 
said  the  fraudulent  bankrupt's  wife,  waving,  with  a  haughty  ges 
ture,  her  visitor  to  a  chair. 

"  Heyday,  Henrietta !"  answered  the  latter,  as  she  threw  her 
self  upon  the  proffered  seat ;  "  how  very  humble  we  are  in  our 
gorgeous  palace !" 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,  Mrs.  De  Witt !" 


164  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh — no,  madam.  I  am  simply  wondering  at  the  magnificence 
of  this  jpore  than  royal  palace,"  returned  her  sister,  looking  around 
the  humble  apartment  with  a  contemptuous  sneer.  "Dear 
me,  what  gorgeous  furniture  !  How  these  superb  chairs  would 
set  off  my  drawing-room !  They  must  have  cost  a  fortune,  each. 
And  this  Holland  carpet — it  flings  the  most  dazzling  Wiltons 
into  the  shade — nay,  the  finest  Brussels  is  but  rags  to  it.  And 
this  imperial  parlor — how  sumptuous  in  its  magnificence,  how 
awe-inspiring  in  its  capacity  !  The  President's  reception-room  is 
a  very  den  to  it !  But  what  most  extorts  my  admiration  is  the 
meekness  of  its  imperial  mistress !" 

"  She  cannot  but  admire  the  lady-like  accomplishments  of  her 
guest,  whose  amiable  qualities  she  has  never  been  able  to  appre 
ciate  so  well  as  now  !" 

"  Ah  !  you  are  so  condescending !"  said  the  visitor.  "  If  there 
is  anything  which  delights  me  more  than  another,  it  is  to  see  a 
queen,  or  a  princess,  or  any  great  lady,  put  herself  upon  a  level 
with  her  inferiors.  It  tells  so  favorably  for  the  ripeness  of  her 
judgment  and  the  simplicity  of  her  heart !" 

"  They  who  have  the  honor  of  a  familiar  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  De  Witt,  cannot  do  otherwise  than  esteem  her !" 
sneered  Mrs.  Jones.  "  They  who  know  her  best,  admire  her  most. 
At  her  own  fireside,  who  so  loved  ?  Her  husband  sighs  for 
her  perpetual  presence,  as  his  only  source  of  happiness.  Her 
children  look  up  to  her  with  an  affection  which  no  human  tongue 
can  express.  Her  servants — it  may  be  said  without  irreverence 
— fairly  worship  her.  In  society,  who  so  admired  7  At  her 
voice,  scandal  hides  its  envenomed  head ;  at  her  voice,  discord, 
malice,  hatred,  change  into  harmony,  guilelessness,  and  love.  At 
church,  who  so  devout  1  who  so  humble  1  who  so  simple  in  her 
guise1?  In  the  circle  in  which  she  moves,  who  so  loved] 
Among  her  own  sex,  who  so  popular  ?  Among  gentlemen,  who  so 
esteemed  ?  Whose  lips  are  so  full  of  sweetness,  whose  presence 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  165 

is  felt  so  sensibly,  whose  absence  more  deplored  1  So  wide  is  her 
fame  among  men,  that  they  say  of  her  all  the  way  from  New 
York  to  Paris—'  She  is  an  angel !'  " 

The  eyes  of  the  visitor  glittered. 

"  You  flatter  my  poor  qualities,  madam !"  she  hissed,  rather 
than  said.  .  * 

"  Nay,  that  would  be  impossible !  The  sweetness  of  your  na 
ture  is  too  evident.  It  shines  in  every  feature,  in  every  move 
ment — in  your  very  voice,  which  is  so  low  and  musical.  So 
well  established  is  your  reputation,  your  acquaintance  would 
regard  the  report  of  an  unkind  word  from  your  lips  as  a  cal 
umny  !" 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Jones,  you  overwhelm  me !  I  shall  sink  beneath 
your  praises.  It  is  so  kind  in  you,  who  are  so  great  a  lady — you, 
who  revel  in  opulence  and  splendor — you,  who  occupy  so  high  a 
position  in  the  world,  to  condescend  to  notice  one  so  humble  as 
myself!  I  shall  never  forget  it— never !" 

"  I  am  aware,  dear  Mrs.  De  Witt,  of  the  strength  and  depth 
of  your  memory !  When  misfortune  fell  upon  her  who  was 
simply  related  to  you  by  a  mere  sisterly  tie,  you  remembered 
instantly  that  she  once  imbibed  from  the  same  breast  from  which 
you  had  yourself,  when  a  babe,  drawn  nourishment,  and  with  your 
usual  noble  impulses,  you  opened  wide  your  door  and  asked  her 
in,  to  shield  her  and  her  little  one  from  distress ;  you  wiped 
away  her  tears,  bade  her  forget  her  misery,  and  said  :  *  Dear 
one,  fear  not ;  thy  sister  will  screen  thee  from  distress ;  her 
purse  shall  be  thy  purse,  and  her  home  thy  home,  until 
better  days  come  again  ;  strangers  shall  not  know  of  thy  troubles ; 
and  least  of  all,  shalt  thou  be  left  to  the  cold  hand  of  charity  !' 
Ah !  this  was  so  kind  in  you — so  humane,  so  sisterly,  so  like 
your  own  noble  heart !  How  the  world  will  love  you,  when  it 
hears  of  it !" 

"  Really,  madam,  I  fear  you  are  making  game  of  me  !" 


166          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh,  impossible !  You  must  not  think  so.  Your  extreme 
modesty  does  both  yourself  and  me  a  great  wrong.  The  very 
rarity  of  virtues  like  yours  makes  our  praise  of  them  at  once  a 
duty  and  a  pleasure  !" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  the  pleasure  you  take  in  it,  dear  madam 
— none  at  all !"  * 

"  You  but  do  me  justice,  dear  Mrs.  De  Witt !" 

"Ah  !  you  great  ones  of  the  earth — ye  who  dwell  in  palaces — 
ye  who  control  the  treasures  of  the  earth — can  afford  to  be  so 
condescending  to  us,  who  are  so  poor — to  us',  the  lowly  !" 

"  We  like  to  encourage  modest  worth ;  and  when  it  is  so 
modest  as  yours,  we  like  to  encourage  it  very  much  indeed  !  It 
might  pine  else,  and  die  unknown :  and  what  a  loss  that  would 
be  to  the  world !" 

"  Ah !"  said  her  elder  sister,  with  a  smile,  "  that  reminds  me — " 

"  Indeed  !  You  have  a  mind,  then  !  You  !  Are  people  of 
your  humble  nature  troubled  in  that  way  ?  What  a  burden  ! 
How  it  must  annoy  you  !" 

"  We  have  so  many  burdens — we,  the  lowly  !" 

"  I  had  supposed  you  to  be  mere  gatherers  and  venders  of 
rags.  And  you  are  really  burdened  with  minds,  too !  My  good 
woman,  what  do  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"  We  think,  sometimes." 

"  Really  !  You  amaze  me !  Yourself,  for  instance — do  you 
think  ?w 

"At  times!" 

"  Poor  thing  !  And  you  look  so  innocent,  too !  Who  would 
dream,  from  your  appearance,  that  you  possessed  a  mind  ?  Poor 
creature !  I  pity  you  !" 

"  I  have  a  heart,  too  !" 

"  No !  What — you  !  You  have  eyes,  I  will  admit ;  for  they 
are  glaring  now  like  a  wolf's ;  and  teeth,  too — large  ones,  like 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          167 

the  tusks  of  a  wild  boar.  Pray,  good  woman,  do  they  regard  you 
as  human  in  the  sphere  in  which  you  movel" 

"  If  I  have  the  tusks  of  a  boar,  fool !"  cried  her  sister,  breaking 
out,  "  beware  of  them  !" 

"Ah  !  poor  thing  !  it  threatens  ;  its  shrill  yell  reminds  me  of 
something  very  amusing  !" 

"Ah!  amusing1?" 

"  Yes,  a  cracked  pipe  !" 

"  Beware — beware  !" 

"  Oh,  dear !  The  bristles  on  its  upper  lip  are  becoming  erect ; 
and  the  poor  thing  itself  is  losing  its  temper.  One  may  look  in 
the  next  moment  to  hear  it  yelp  like  a  hungry  hound.  And  it 
came  here,  poor  thing,  to  make  us  angry  ;  but  it  has  only  suc 
ceeded  in  making  us  smile  !  Poor  thing  !  it  should  learn  that  to 
lose  its  temper  is  to  acknowledge  defeat.  Pray,  good  woman,  if 
you  arc  a  woman,  don't  make  such  wild  faces — you  will  frighten, 
my  child  out  of  her  sleep  !" 

"Ah!  your  child1?"  said  her  sister,  with  a  sinistrous  smile. 
"A  pity  it  has  no  father !" 

"  Oh,  its  father  is  safe  enough,  and  near  enough.  Take  your 
your  eyes  from  off  her,  serpent !  She  is  human." 

"  Deaf  me,  what  a  pity !"  returned  the  other,  in  a  silken  voice 
which  disturbed  the  mother.  "  Were  she  not  human,  she  might 
feel  it  less !" 

"This  is  a  mere  trick  to  alarm  me  !"  murmured  Mrs.  Jones, 
whose  heart  throbbed  with  fearful  violence.  "  Yes,  a  mere  trick. 
But  I'll  be  on  my  guard !" 

"  Poor  babe !"  continued  her  sister,  as  if  apostrophizing  the 
child.  "You  little  dream  of  what  is  in  store  for  you.  And  a 
smile  is  on  your  face,  too.  Ah !  if  you  only  knew  how  near 
you  are  to — misery  /" 

"Croaker!"  cried  the  agitated  mother,  "  take  your  basilisk  eyes 


168  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

from  off  my  child.  If  you  have  more  venom  in  your  heart  than 
you  can  bear,  spit  it  out  boldly  upon  ME  !" 

"  Dear  me !"  simpered  the  other,  silkealy.  "  How  very  im 
perious !  Pride  is  so  admirable  a  quality,  too !  Pity  it  should 
have  a  foil !" 

"  What  mean  you  V  cried  her  sister,  her  lip  trembling  in  spite 
of  all  her  efforts.  "  You  mean  something.  Spit  it  out !" 

"  Very  proud,  indeed  !  And  so  your  husband  is  quite  safe, 
and  very  near  1  Dear  me !  Faith  is  so  very  touching,  and  then 
so  beautiful — yes,  very  beautiful !"  continued  the  brutal  woman, 
enjoying  her  triumph  with  satanic  delight.  "And  he  will  como. 
back,  too,  of  course1?  Oh  yes,  he  will  come  back,  with  all  his 
money,  which  he  obtained  so  honestly — so  very  honestly!  Yes ; 
he  will  come  back.  He  means  to  do  so.  How  good  it  will  be 
in  him  to  come  back !  And  you  know  all  about  it,  too !  Dear 
me — dear  me !" 

Mrs.  Jones  surveyed  her  as  if  she  meditated  a  spring. 

"  You  will  shine,  doubtless,  ichen  he  comes  back,"  continued 
the  pitiless  woman.  "  Ride  over  us  all,  like  some  great  queen 
who  understands  both  the  whip  and  the  reins.  And  you  will  ride 
with  him,  too.  Dear  me  !  what  will  become  of  poor  me,  then  ? 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  get  down  on  my  knees,  and  beg  for 
mercy  to  my  high  sister.  Ah !  that  will  be  a  sad  time  for  me ! 
I  think  I  had  better  conciliate  you  now — now,  before  he  comes 
back !" 

Mrs.  Jones  was  paler  than  a  sheet.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
could  not.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  her  lips  were  riveted  together. 
A  dread  of  some  great  calamity  crept  from  her  heart,  and  seated 
itself  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  you  are  a  woman,"  it  said,  "have  the  pity  of  one  woman 
for  another  woman !" 

But  the  lips  spoke  not  at  all. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          169 

"Ah !"  said  the  woman  who  was  not  a  woman,  "  you  are  not 
so  very  certain  he  will  come  back  ;  you  are  not  so  certain  he  is 
safe  or  near.  Dear  me !  How  very  condescending  an  admis 
sion,  for  the  imperial  mistress  of  this  imperial  palace  !  By-and- 
bye,  you  will  perhaps  make  another  condescension — who  knows  ? 
If  you  would  come  down,  now,  to  my  poor  level — what  might 
happen  thenl" 

The  eyes  grew  softer  by  degrees ;  and  the  dread  looked  more 
and  more  imploring. 

A  cold  smile,  full  of  triumph  and  malignity,  lit  up  the  sim 
pering  lips  of  the  pitiless  woman. 

"But  I  am  a  detested  thing — I,"  she  said,  in  her  chilling,  silken 
key ;  "  hated  by  all,  and — told  so ;  a  fright,  a  shrew,  a  vixen,  a 
scandal-monger ;  have  eyes  like  a  wolf's,  teeth  like  the  tusks  of 
a  boar,  and  my  smile  is  enough  to  frighten  infants  -from  their 
slumbers  !  How  very  flattering  !" 

The  dread  looked  out  from  its  blue  windows,  and  said,  "  I  take 
back  every  word — every  one  !" 

And  the  lips  broke,  with  a  fierce  struggle,  their  rivets,  gurgled 
out  one  word,  and  then  broke  off  suddenly,  as  if  they  had  said 
their  last,  and  would  never  speak  more — 

"  Mercy—'1 

There  was  a  trembling  in  the  body ;  the  hands  met,  clasped, 
and  stretched  out  imploringly. 

And  then  the  entire  body  sank,  as  if  forced  down  by  some 
powerful  but  invisible  will. 

Mrs.  Jones  was  upon  her  knees  ! 

"  Dear  me,  how  interesting !"  said  her  sister,  with  a  silken 
'hem !  "  Our  great  lady  makes  another  condescension.  She 
asks  a  favor  of  poor  humble  me — of  the  fright,  of  the  wolf's 
eyes— of  the  wild  boar's  tusks.  Who  would  have  thought  it  1 
And  she  looks  penitent,  too — very  penitent !  Dear  me !  I'll 


170         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

warrant,  now,  she  thinks  me  almost  human — almost  a  member 
of  the  human  species  !" 

The  dread  repeated  its  appeal. 

The  lips  strove  to  second  it ;  but  could  not.  They  were  riv 
eted  again. 

But  the  outstretched  arms  trembled,  and  the  body  shook  as  if 
laboring  with  a  chill. 

The  cold  woman  enjoyed  her  triumph  like  a  wild  beast  at  a 
banquet  of  bleeding  flesh. 

Then,  concentrating  all  her  venom  into  as  few  words  as  she 
could,  she  said,  in  the  same  icy  key — 

"  Does  my  lady  want  advice  ?  She  shall  have  it.  Let  her 
change  her  name ;  let  her  put  her  child  out  to  board,  since  it  is 
too  young  to  be  put  out  to  work  ;  then  let  her  go  to  some 
Southern  city,  and  set  up  a  school,  or,  what  might  perhaps  be 
better,  turn  governess.  That  is  my  advice. 

"  Does  my  lady  want  money  ?  She  shall  have  it.  Here  are 
five  dollars.  When  they  are  gone,  let  her  write  or  send  for 
more  to  the  '  fright/  and  she  shall  have  it. 

"  Does  she  want  news  ?  She  shall  have  it.  Her  husband 
will  not  come  back.  He  has  fled  to  Europe.  He  took  the 
steamer  at  Boston,  where  he  was  met  by  a  paramour — the  wife 
of  Mr.  Clarke,  the  hardware  dealer — a  member  of  his  own  church 
— an  old  acquaintance  of  rny  lady,  I  believe.  He  has  eloped 
with  Mrs.  Clarke — they  are  now  on  their  way  to  England — and 
the  Rhine.  He  will  NOT  come  back  !" 

The  cold  woman  turned  upon  her  heel — the  door  behind  her 
opened  and  closed — and  the  cold  woman  was  gone. 

But  she  left  another  cold  woman  behind  her — senseless  on  the 
floor. 


CHAPTER     XI/ 

DUSK  came.  The  family  of  the  dry  goods  jobber  were  as 
sembled  at  tea,  which  was  nearly  over. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  as  she  filled  her  husband's 
third  cup  of  steaming  souchong,  "  I  have  a  call  to  make  this 
evening.  How  do  you  feel  1" 

"  Very  lazy  and  very  tired,"  returned  her  husband,  laughing. 
"  Do  let  me  off,  and  I  remain  yours  most  devoted  and  in  debt, 
for  a  new  dress,  or  anything  else  you  may  think  a  fair  equivalent, 
John  P.  Townsend !" 

"  How  very  gallant !"  returned  his  wife,  with  a  charming  pout. 
Then  glancing  at  Samuel,  she  said,  "  How  do  you  feel,  Samuel  1 
For  I  am  determined  to  have  a  beau !" 

" Very  like  gallanting  a  fair  lady,"  answered  Samuel,  "pro 
viding  she  will  accept  of  my  company." 

"  Which  she  will  do  with  great  pleasure  and  many  thanks," 
said  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  And  now  I  think  of  it,"  she  added,  "  it 
will  not  do  for  me,  a  married  woman,  to  be  seen  walking  out 
alone  with  a  young  man.  Due  regard  must  be  had  for  appear 
ances.  I  must  positively  have  a  lady  companion !" 

"Oh,  by  all  means,  aunt!  Appearances  are  everything  in 
such  cases,"  cried  Isabella,  who  hoped  to  be  the  favored  one. 

"  I  agree  with  Isabella,"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  "  particularly  in 
the  present  case.  Who  knows?  I  might  wake  up  in  the  morn 
ing  wifeless.  And  now  I  think  of  it,  the  steamer  for  Europe  sails 
in  the' morning.  I  decline  to  run  the  risk.  I  insist,  Mrs.  Towns- 


172          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

end,  that  you  take  one  of  my  nieces  with  you.  We  business 
men  have  a  weakness — we  like  securities." 

"  Barbarous  man !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Townsend..  "  Have  you 
no  pity  V* 

"  Security,  madam — security.  When  I  lend  my  money,  I  like 
to  know  what  I  shall  have  to  fall  upon  in  case  it  fail  to  reappear, 
in  due  season.  And  when  I  intrust  my  wife  to  another,  who  is 
of  far  more  value  to  me  than  all  my  money,  should  I  be  less 
cautious  1  Security,  madam — security  !" 

"  Cruel  man  P  pouted  his  wife.  "  Who  will  be  my  security  1 
Will  you,  Mirry?" 

"  If  guardy  will  consider  me  sufficient !"  replied  Miriam, 
timidly. 

"  What  say  you,  barbarous  man  ?  Is  Miss  Selden  '  good' 
enough  in  your  judgment  ?" 

"  Abundantly  so,"  returned  the  merchant.  "  Miss  Selden  is 
perfectly  '  good.'  What  say  you,  miss  ?  I  prefer  direct  replies 
not  intermediate  ones.  Will  you  be  answerable  for  Mrs.  Towns- 
end's  safety  with  this  young  gentleman  ?  Will  you  be  respon 
sible  to  me,  her  liege  lord  and  master,  that  she  shall  not  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  her  illustrious  predecessors,  by  taking  the  first 
steamer  for  Europe  with  this  gentleman,  and  thereby  subject  me 
to  irreparable  loss  1  Answer ;  and  let  your  answer  be  in  con 
formity  with  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Statutes  of  the  State 
of  New  York,  and  all  other  enactments  made  and  provided  for 
the  better  security  of  John  P.  Townsend,  himself,  his  heirs,  ad 
ministrators,  and  assigns." 

"  I  will,"  said  Miriam. 

"  Enough.  All  right.  Go  ahead,  and  Isabella  and  I  will  stay 
at  home  and  make  ourselves  as  miserable  as  possible." 

Isabella  smiled,  and — quietly  bit  her  lip. 

"  Will  you  be  gone  long,  aunt  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Ah !  my  dear,  do  not  ask  me !     Look  at  my  eyes,  and  tell 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          173 

me  if  you  ever  saw  me  look  more  miserable.  To  think  that  my 
own  dear,  cruel  husband  would  not  trust  me  on  my  own  respon- 
siblity  with  so  respectable  a  gentleman  as  our  dear  friend  here. 
I  shall  never  get  over  the  humiliation  !" 

"  Take  comfort,  madam,"  said  Isabella.  "  You  are  not  alone 
in  misery !" 

"  Good !"  thought  her  uncle.  "  That  last  sentence  was  designed 
for  Samuel !  She  dies  hard  !" 

"  Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  rising,  and  shaking  her  small 
plump  fore-finger  at  her  husband,  "  you  are  a  naughty,  cruel, 
hard-hearted  man.  I  shall  never  forgive  you — never !" 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  dear.  You  will  kill  me.  The  bare 
thought  of  the  extraordinary  risk  which  1  am  running  makes  me 
tremble,  and  even  now  I  have  a  great  notion  to  demand  a  second 
security." 

u  Ah !  Then  it  is  high  time  I  look  to  myself.  Come,  Mirry — 
Samuel — aid  me.  Let  us  fly.  I  am  in  danger !" 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  trio  were  on  their  way  to  Mrs.  Farley's. 

Isabella  saw  them  depart  with  a  troubled  eye. 

"  Shall  we  talk,  my  dear,  or  read  1"  asked  her  uncle. 

"  Oh,  just  as  you  please,  guardy.  I  am  not  particular,"  said 
Isabella,  throwing  herself  on  the  sofa. 

"Thfcn  I  will  read,"  said  Mr.  Townsend.  "To  tell  the  truth, 
I  am  absolutely  worn  out.  I  have  had  a  hard  day  of  it,  and  a 
little  reading  will  do  me  good."  Then  he  added  to  himself — 
"  Fire  and  fury  are  in  her  heart,  if  the  pattering  of  her  little  foot 
means  anything  !" 

And  he  picked  up  an  evening  paper,  and  appeared  in  a  few 
moments  to  be  perfectly  absorbed  in  its  leader.  An  occasional 
sly  glance  at  his  niece,  however,  indicated  that  his  thoughts  were 
not  wholly  taken  up  by  the  article,  and  that  under  his  grave  ex 
terior  he  was  quietly  enjoying  a  very  amusing  comedy. 

Isabella  was  evidently  ill  at  ease.     She  looked  like  one  sitting 


174          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

upon  thorns.  Her  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  opposite  side  of 
the  drawing-room  with  an  expression  of  intense  thought.  An 
occasional  spasmodic  twitching  of  her  ruby  lip,  the  perpetual 
pattering  of  her  foot  upon  the  carpet,  and  the  high  color  in  her 
cheeks,  represented  the  condition  of  her  feelings. 

"  Her  blood  is  up.  There  will  be  fun  presently  !"  mused  her 
uncle. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Isabella  rose,  and  approaching  the  centre- 
table,  she  caught  up  a  magazine,  and  ran  her  eyes  through  its 
pages. 

"  Bravo  !"  thought  the  merchant,  silently  regarding  her.  "  She 
runs  from  the  prose  to  the  poetry,  and  from  the  poetry  to  the 
prose,  as  if  they  were  one  continuous  subject.  It  is  better  than 
a  play !" 

The  magazine  was  soon  dropped,  and  a  book  picked  up. 

Her  uncle  glanced  at  her  slily. 

"  Well,  I  shall  burst !"  he  muttered.  "  She  is  reading  with 
her  whole  mind,  and  with  the  page  upside  down  !" 

The  book  was  not  long  in  following  the  fate  of  the  magazine. 

"  What  next  T'  mused  the  merchant.  "  The  magazine  again, 
as  I  live !" 

It  was  true;  but  the  young  lady  was  now  examining  the 
plates.  • 

A  few  moments,  and  the  magazine  was  lying  beside  the  book. 

The  young  lady  now  took  out  her  watch,  glanced  at  it  impa 
tiently,  and  then  put  it  back,  accompanying  the  movement  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh. 

She  looked  at  her  uncle,  who  was  apparently  very  deeply  en 
gaged  upon  the  money  article  of  his  newspaper. 

Isabella  took  up  the  book  again,  opened  it,  and  laying  it  upon 
the  table,  made  a  furious  attack  upon  the  middle  of  a  chapter. 
She  maintained  her  share  of  the  combat  bravely  for  nearly 
twenty  minutes  ;  but  owing  to  some  inexplicable  cause,  she  did 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          175 

not  get  beyond  the  third  line,  at  which  she  hung  with  a  tenacity 
which  spoke  volumes  for  her  will.  In  the  end,  however,  she 
drew  off  from  the  contest,  and  returned  to  the  magazine,  which 
she  also  abandoned  a  few  minutes  later. 

"Jealousy  wakes  up  a  woman  wonderfully,"  mused  the  mer 
chant.  "  Here  is  a  living  example  of  its  efficacy.  Never  before 
have  I  seen  my  fair  friend  so  thoroughly  aroused.  She  is  always 
wanting  a  sensation ;  and  now  her  wish  is  gratified.  I  shall  be 
lucky  if  I  escape  a  broken  head — for  she  begins  to  look  danger 
ous.  If  Samuel  could  but  see  her  now,  and  read  her  as  I  do  !" 

Miss  Landon  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  regarding  the 
obstinate  book,  and  equally  obstinate  magazine,  with  a  fierce 
eye. 

"  She  is  meditating  vengeance  against  somebody  !"  thought  her 
uncle.  "  And  Jane  tells  me  that  she  left  Mrs.  Jones  a  hundred 
dollars,  too.  Money  thrown  away,  for  Samuel,  with  all  his  sim 
plicity,  is  certainly  not  fool  enough  to  let  himself  be  caught  by 
this  tartar  !" 

Isabella  drew  off  from  the  book  and  magazine,  and  approach 
ing  the  piano,  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys.  The  sounds 
which  followed  appeared  to  rouse  her  partially  from  her  ab 
straction.  She  selected  a  sheet  of  music,  and  then  seated  herself 
before  the  instrument,  as  if  bent  upon  driving  away  the  nervous 
impatience  of  her  mind. 

Her  uncle  watched  her  attentively  and  in  silence. 

Isabella  struck  the  keys  to  a  soft,  plaintive  melody,  but  broke 
down  ere  she^reached  the  second  stanza. 

"  I  thought  so  !"  mused  the  merchant.  "  Her  spirit  is  up,  and 
has  no  sympathy  with  a  tranquillizing  air  like  that.  Now  what  is 
she  doing ']" 

A  very  simple  thing — throwing  the  music  sheet  upon  the 
Boor ! 

"  Bravo  !     There's  seventy -five  cents  treated  with  indignity, 


176          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

without  saying  anything  of  the  insult  to  the  unfortunate  com 
poser !     I  shall  burst  directly  !" 

Isabella  again  struck  the  keys.  This  time  it  was  with  a  bold 
yet  delicate  finger.  Her  air,  manner,  eye — everything,  indicated 
that  her  mind  was  under  the  influence  of  an  inspiration. 

Her  uncle  regarded  her  with  mingled  amusement  and  surprise. 

"  Her  genius  is  speaking,"  he  observed  mentally.  "  Her  mettle 
is  up,  and  now  for  a  whole  opera,  extempore.  Oh,  for  some  one 
to  take  it  down  !" 

He  guessed  correctly.  The  composition  which  followed  was 
Isabella's  own.  It  was  the  conception  of  a  mind  in  its  highest 
state  of  feeling. 

The  merchant  listened  :  it  was  to  a  romance. 

— A  mild,  pleasant  strain  rose  softly  in  the  air. 

A  shepherd  youth,  a  perfect  Apollo  in  beauty,  is  sitting  on  a 
hill  and  charming  his  flock  with  the  melody  of  his  pipe.  It  is  a 
bright,  sunny  day,  and  far  away  before  the  player  stretches  a 
landscape  of  surpassing  beauty. 

A  young,  noble,  and  high-born  lady,  accompanied  by  a  single 
attendant,  appears  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  lady  is  dressed  as 
becomes  her  rank.  She  carries  in  her  right  hand  a  bow,  at  her 
back  a  quiver  containing  a  few  arrows.  Of  all  her  companions 
in  the  chase,  her  favorite  attendant — who  is  one  or  two  years 
younger  than  herself— alone  remains  ;  the  rest  are  scattered,  lost, 
and  the  lady  and  her  companion  are  seeking  their  way  back  to 
the  castle. 

They  see  the  shepherd,  and  approach  him :  partly  out  of  curi 
osity,  and  partly  for  information  of  the  nearest  and  best  route  to 
the  castle. 

As  they  draw  near  him,  they  are  surprised  at  the  touching 
pathos  of  the  melody  which  issues  from  his  pipe.  The  tender 
ness  of  the  air,  and  the  skilfulness  with  which  it  is  performed,  tell 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE'  LEFT.          177 

the  listeners  that  the  player,  notwithstanding  his  rustic  garb  and 
the  humbleness  of  his  occupation,  is  a  youth  of  deep  feeling  and 
rare  talent. 

The  lady,  of  a  bolder  nature  than  her  attendant,  is  the  first  to 
face  the  shepherd,  who  regards  her  with  surprise. 

The  suddenness  of  her  appearance,  the  richness  of  her  dress, 
and  the  magnificence  of  her  beauty,  amaze  him,  bewilder  him, 
stupefy  him. 

On  her  side,  the  lady  is  startled  at  the  noble  beauty  of  the 
shepherd,  at  the  commanding  grandeur  of  his  air,  at  the  pleasing 
tone  of  his  strikingly  handsome  features,  at  the  faultless  symme 
try  of  his  form. 

She  speaks  to  him,  and  when  he  replies,  the  lady  discovers 
that  the  music  of  his  voice  is  richer  than  the  melting  melody  of 
his  pipe. 

The  lady's  heart  is  lost.  It  is  in  the  keeping  of  the  handsome 
shepherd  youth,  whose  simple  mind  never  dreams  of  the  rich 
conquest  he  has  made. 

At  this  moment  the  humble  attendant  draws  nigh.  As  the 
rich  brown  eye  of  the  youth  falls  upon  her,  his  countenance 
lights  up  with  a  smile,  which  the  lady  mistakenly  imputes  to 
derision  at  the  contrast  between  her  own  dazzling  loveliness  and 
the  simpler  beauty  of  her  attendant. 

The  lady  endeavors  to  acquaint  the  shepherd  with  the  happy 
impression  which  his  beauty  has  stamped  upon  her  heart ;  but 
the  simplicity  of  his  nature  prevents  him  from  understanding 
her. 

The  lady  is  in  distress,  in  torture,  because  she  cannot  tell  him 
bluntly  that  she  loves  him,  without  overstepping  the  bounds  of 
delicacy,  without  sacrificing  the  modesty  of  a  proud  and  virtu 
ous  maiden. 

She  leaves  him,  and  returns,  with  her  attendant,  to  the  castle, 
where  she  is  besieged  daily  by  hosts  of  high  and  noble  suitors, 


178         WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

who  vie  with  each  other  for  the  honor  of  her  love  and  her  hand. 
But  she  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  their  entreaties,  because  her  affec 
tions  are  fixed  upon  the  humble  shepherd  of  the  hill. 

She  visits  him  again  and  again — always  accompanied  by  her 
attendant — and  invariably  leaves  him  with  a  breaking  heart, 
because  his  simple  mind  will  not  understand  that  the  rich,  high 
born  lady  loves  him,  and  wishes  to  make  him  her  liege 
lord. 

One  day  the  lady  desires  to  go  and  see  her  shepherd  love,  as 
usual,  and  sends  a  summons  to  her  favorite  attendant ;  but  the 
latter  is  not  in  her  apartment,  nor  yet  in  the  castle.  The  lady 
is  surprised,  indignant,  and  waits  awhile  for  her  return.  An 
hour  passes ;  the  girl  is  still  absent ;  and,  with  a  sigh,  the  lady 
sets  out  alone. 

As  she  reaches  the  foot  of  the  hill,  a  sight  greets  her  which 
palsies  her  very  soul. 

Her  attendant — the  recreant  runaway — the  great  absent ! — is 
seated  on  a  stone,  looking  tenderly  down  upon  the  handsome 
shepherd,  who  is  kneeling  at  her  feet ! 

The  faithless  jade ! 

The  artful  creature !  to  have  the  temerity  to  enter  the  lists 
for  the  shepherd's  love  with  her  own  mistress !  Her  own  mis 
tress,  who  had  heaped  upon  her  so  many  millions  of  favors ! 
Who  had  given  her  money,  old  clothes,  and  one  or  two  of  her 
own  embroidered  handkerchiefs ! 

The  deceitful,  ungrateful  thing  ! — 

The  tempest  around  the  piano,  at  this  moment,  was  perfectly 
dreadful. 

Mr.  Townsend  was  looking  every  moment  for  a  thunderbolt — 
a  loud  crash — and  a  general  wreck,  which  would  carry  off  Isabella, 
himself,  the  house,  and  all,  to  some  dark,  unknown  waste,  where 
the  eye  could  see  nothing,  and  where  the  ear  could  hear  naught 
but  a  deafening  roar  of  black  pitching  waters,  which  were  swal- 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          179 

lowing  up  and  burying  everything  and  everybody  in  their  stern, 
unfathomable  depths. 

But,  happily  for  Mr.  Townsend,  his  niece,  his  furniture,  and  his 
house,  this  catastrophe  did  not  come  to  pass. 

The  drawing-room  stood  firm,  notwithstanding  the  stormy 
threatenings  of  the  piano.  The  sofa  maintained  its  usual  gravity; 
the  centre-table,  its  tranquillity ;  the  chairs,  their  stolidity ;  the 
portraits  on  the  walls,  their  usual  serenity.  Even  the  three  little 
statuettes  on  the  mantel  did  not  appear  to  be  afraid,  the  least  bit. 

The  merchant's  pleasant  face  was  streaming  with  tears — of 
suppressed  laughter.  To  say  that  he  enjoyed  the  romance  of 
Isabella,  or  rather  of  the  piano,  would  but  faintly  convey  the 
fact — he  revelled  in  it.  If  he  did  not  shake  himself  to  pieces  with 
merriment,  it  was  because  his  constitution  was  more  than  equal 
to  the  demands  made  upon  it  by  his  risibilities. 

The  tempest,  which  indicated  the  wild  rage  of  the  high-born 
lady  upon  discovering  the  "  shocking  treachery"  of  her  attendant, 
at  length  lulkl,  and  the  romance  continued. 

— The  lady  could  scarcely  believe  her  eyes ;  but  finding  that 
what  they  told  her  was  only  too  true,  viz. — that  her  artful 
attendant  had,  somehow,  won  the  affections  of  the  handsome 
shepherd,  who  was  now  entreating  her  to  make  him  happy  by 
becoming  his  wife — the  rage  of  the  great  lady  could  scarcely  be 
restrained.  She  looked  around  her  for  a  weapon  with  which  to 
smite  the  faithless  thing,  who  had  dared  to  step  in  between  her 
self  and  the  object  of  her  affections.  She  could  find  nothing, 
however,  which  would  answer  her  purpose,  and,  burning  with 
wrath,  she  hurried  back  to  the  castle,  and  procured  a  stout  whip, 
with  which  she  returned  to  the  hill — just  in  time  to  witness  the 
lovers  sealing  their  matrimonial  pledge  with  a  rapturous  kiss. 

The  high-born  lady  boiled  with  jealous  madness.  She  ad 
vanced  upon  the  pair  with  her  uplifted  whip,  the  lash  of  which 
descended  in  another  instant  upon  the  faithless"  attendant's  back. 


180          WHICN  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  lovers  started ;  the  attendant  caught  her  indignant  lady's 
eye,  screamed,  and,  with  a  blush  at  her  own  treachery,  turned 
and  fled — hotly  pursued  by  the  whip,  which,  guided  by  the  hand 
of  the  high-born  lady,  fell,  every  instant,  upon  her  shoulders. 
Up  and  over  the  hill,  into  a  valley — from  the  valley  to  a  wood 
— from  the  wood  to  a  hill — up  the  hill  to  a  mountain — down  the 
mountain  to  a  vale — through  the  vale  to  the  sea,  into  which  the 
maiden  plunged,  with  a  despairing  moan — the  indignant  whip 
lashing  her,  and  marking  her,  and  tearing  her,  all  the  way.— 

The  racket  of  the  piano  during  the  chase  was  perfectly  terrify 
ing.  Mr.  Townsend  bore  it  with  all  the  resignation  of  a  martyr, 
flattering  himself  that  the  wildest  hurricane,  like  everything  else, 
must  come,  in  time,  to  an  end. 

Nor  was  he  wrong. 

The  chase  once  over,  the  deceitful  attendant  once  in  the  sea, 
the  tumultuous  roar  changed  instantly  into  a  new  version  of  "  See, 
the  Conquering  Hero  Comes !"  amid  the  stirring  strains  of  which, 
the  high-born  lady  returned  to  the  handsome  shepherd,  to  whom 
she  exposed  the  shameless  perfidy  of  the  artful  attendant,  breathed 
out  to  him  her  own  legitimate  love,  and  then  marched  him  off  in 
triumph  to  the  castle,  where  they  were  immediately  made  one, 
and  where  they  spent  the  remainder  of  their  days  in  uninterrupted 
happiness. 

"  A  marvellous  composition !"  muttered  the  merchant,  with 
a  derisive  smile.  "It  is  worthy  the  frivolous  intellect  of  its 
frivolous  composer.  Her  glorious  genius  has  labored,  and  this 
silly  rubbish  is  the  result.  The  mountain  is  safely  delivered  of 
— a  mouse.  Samuel  is  right — mere  worldlings  cannot,  produce 
aught  worthy  the  attention  of  a  noble  mind.  Great  thoughts 
spring  only  from  earnest  spirits,  intent  upon  great  moral  aims. 
Really,  I  am  ashamed  of  my  handsome  but  frivolous  niece. 
Her  mental  capacity  enables  her  to  shine  in— puerilities.  But 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          181 

let  us  look  at  her  romance.  Samuel  is,  of  course,  the  handsome 
shepherd ;  Miriam  the  attendant ;  herself  the  high-born  lady ; 
her  own  fortune  the  castle  ;  Brigham  and  her  other  admirers 
the  host  of  knightly  suitors ;  and  the  whip  simply  an  expression 
of  her  determination  to  maintain  her  own  claims  to  the  hand 
some  shepherd,  at  all  hazards.  Umph!  we'll  see  about  that. 
And  now  for  a  small  morsel  of  fun,  mi  lady  /" 

With  these  thoughts,  the  merchant  rose  from  his  easy-chair 
and  approached  the  piano. 

u  Bravo,  'Bel — bravo  !"  he  cried,  clapping  his  hands.  "  A 
magnificent  composition — more  brilliant  than  *  Norma,'  more 
inspiring  than  '  I  Puritani.'  I  haven't  enjoyed  myself  so  much 
in — I  don't  know  how  long.  I  had  no  idea  you  had  such  a  genius 
for — this  sort  of  thing.  Dear  me !  if  Mr.  Brigham  had  only 
been  here — or  Samuel — how  they  would  have  been  amused !" 

"  Mr.  Brigham,  indeed !"  returned  Isabella,  in  disdain. 

"  Oh,  I  see !"  said  her  uncle,  with  a  sly  leer.  "  It  isn't  Mr. 
Brigham  any  more — eh  ?  It's  another  gentleman — eh  1  It's  a 
certain  handsome  youth,  whose  given  name  begins  with  an  S, 
and  ends  with  an  L.  Oh,  you  little  flirt !  Poor  Brigham  will 
hang  himself,  and  the  coroner's  inquest  will  be — '  Died  of— Miss 
Landon !' " 

"  Mr.  Brigham  is  at  full  liberty  to  die  whenever  it  shall  please 
him  !"  returned  Isabella,  petulantly.  "  As  for  myself,  I  am  rich 
enough  to  like  and  dislike  whom  I  please,  and  I  feel  strong 
enough  to  insist  upon  my  rights." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear — you  are  both  rich  and  strong  ;  and,  as 
I  rejoice  to  discover,  full  of  spirit,  too — very  full.  And  that  is 
what  puzzles  me." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  uncle !" 

"  Oh,  you  little  vixen !  How  innocent  we  are !  How  very 
innocent !" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  uncle  f 


182          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  That's  it.  What  do  we  mean  ?  Oh,  yes. 
Certainly.  Of  course.  We  don't  mean  anything.  Oh,  no — 
nothing.  Certainly  not.  Nothing  at  all.  O,  you  flirt !" 

"  Really,  uncle,  I  don't  see  anything  so  very  amusing.  What 
are  you  laughing  at  ?" 

"  Laughing,  my  dear  ?  Are  we  laughing  ?  We  ?  It  cannot 
he.  It  is  all  a  mistake.  We  are  only  rejoicing." 

"  But  what  at,  uncle  ?" 

"  Because  we  have  got  a  new  B.  E.  A.  U. — beau, — and  we  are 
rejoicing  because  we  are  so  sure  of  him,  that  we  dare  to  trust 
him,  for  a  little  while,  with  another  !" 

"  Now,  guardy,"  said  Isabella,  "  you  are  certainly  telling  tales 
out  of  school !  I  shall  be  very  angry  with  you,  if  you  go  on  so. 
I  don't  like  it !"  she  added,  meaningly. 

"  Ah !  well,  then,  we  won't  say  any  more  about  it.  But  I 
had  thought  that  a  girl  of  our  spirit  wouldn't  stand  any  such  non 
sense.  What !  sit  at  home,  while  our  beau  goes  out  with 
another !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing !  Did  you  ever  1 
No,  /  never.  And  when  he  comes  back,  won't  we  teach  him 
who  he  is,  who  we  are,  and  what  we  don't  mean  to  be  ?  Oh,  no. 
Of  course  not.  We  haven't  got  any  spirit — not  the  least  mite — 
none  at  all.  And,  as  for  her — the  saucy  minx  ! — we  won't  pull 
her  ears,  nor  tear  her  clothes,  nor  scratch  her  eyes  out,  and  a 
few  other  amiable  things,  just  to  show  her  who  she  is.  Oh,  no  ; 
not  by  any  means.  We  are  very  humble,  we  are ;  and  we 
yield  to  our  rivals,  without  lifting  even  a  finger  in  self-defence  ! 
Yes,  we  sit  at  home  very  humbly,  and  see  our  beau  taken  away 
before  our  very  eyes.  And  when  they  go  away,  we  take  it  very 
coolly.  We  read  books  and  magazines  very  carefully  and  very 
tranquilly.  We  play  the  piano  and  improvise  whole  operas. 
We  never  dream  at  all  of  giving  the  false  one  an  ice-cream 
on  his  return,  nor  our  rival  brimstone  for  the  coming  week. 
Not  at  all.  We  are  so  humble !" 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          183 

"Now,  guardy,"  said  Isabella,  who  blushed  at  finding  her 
very  thoughts  so  well  understood,  "  do  give  over  this  nonsense, 
and  I'll  sing  you  anything  you  please." 

"A  bargain,  'Bel.     And  now,  let  me  see.    What  shall  it  be  T' 

"  Your  favorite — '  My  Native  Land  V  "  suggested  Isabella. 

"  No,  that's  too  patriotic  for  the  present  occasion." 

"'Love  not'?" 

"  Too  sentimental !" 

"  '  The  Physician  and  the  Dancing-Master  ?'  " 

"  Entirely  too  humorous.  No,  give  us  something  grand,  some 
thing  solemn,  something  inspiring.  Ah !  I  have  it.  Let  it  be 
that  anthem  which  you  sung  last  night  with  Samuel !" 

Isabella  sprang  to  her  feet  like  a  lioness.  Her  cheeks  were 
crimsoned  ;  her  lips  trembled ;  her  eyes  flashed. 

"Uncle—" 

"Well,  milady1?" 

"  You — you  are  a  brute  !" 

"  Oh,  my  precious  darling — " 

But  the  young  lady  was  gone  before  he  could  complete  the 
sentence. 

The  merchant  smiled. 

"  She  is  off  to  her  room  ;  and  now  look  out  for  broken  chairs 
and  smashed  crockery !"  he  muttered,  laughing  till  his  sides 
ached.  "  Well,"  he  added,  as  he  returned  to  his  easy-chair,  "  I've 
taught  her  a  quiet  lesson — one  she  will  remember.  In  future, 
she  will  let  poor  Miriam  alone,  or  I  am  wide  of  my  reckoning  ! 
Now  that  she  knows  she  is  understood,  she  will  not  show  her 
hand  quite  so  openly.  There  is  nothing  like  a  little  tact  in  these 
matters — nothing  like  a  little  tact !" 

And  the  merchant  resumed  his  paper,  and  examined  its  con 
tents  attentively  for  the  first  time. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Isabella,  hot  with  passion,  hurried  to  her 
chamber.  She  lit  the  gas-burner  and  taking  up  a  book,  threw 


184:          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

herself  into  a  chair  and  made  a  serious  effort  to  read  herself  into 
tranquillity.  But  the  attempt  proved  abortive,  and  the  book 
was  thrown  aside.  Her  temples  were  hot,  and  throbbing  as  if 
they  would  burst.  She  rose,  and  approached  the  wash-stand, 
to  cool  her  burning  brow.  Her  movements  were  quick,  ener 
getic,  and  full  of  passion.  She  snatched  up  the  water-pitcher ; 
but  the  suddenness,  or  rather  the  violence  of  the  motion,  caused 
the  vessel  to  strike  against  the  basin  with  a  force  which  shattered 
it  in  pieces.  Isabella,  with  a  passionate  cry,  threw  the  handle 
upon  the  floor  ;  then  ringing,  or  rather  jerking  the  bell,  she  paced 
the  room  in  a  state  of  irritation  bordering  upon  madness. 

A  few  minutes,  and  her  maid  appeared. 

"  Water — and  take  these  things  away.  Quick,  and  no 
remarks !"  said  Isabella,  in  a  tone  which  caused  the  girl  to  com 
prehend  the  propriety  of  dispatch. 

"  Marry,  come  up !"  said  the  maid,  as  she  descended  to  the 
kitchen.  "  I  guess  somebody  is  in  her  tantrums  to-night !" 

The  fit,  however,  did  not  apparently  last  long.  For  when  the 
maid  returned  with  a  fresh  pitcher,  she  found  her  mistress  some 
what  more  composed.  And  the  next  morning,  and  indeed  for 
nearly  a  week  afterwards,  the  domestics  observed  significantly 
to  each  other,  that  Miss  Isabella  was  as  "  nice  as  pie  !" 


CHAPTER    XIII, 

BUT  we  must  not  forget  our  three  friends,  whom  we  left  on 
their  wa^  to  Lawrence  street. 

"  Where  are  we  going "?"  asked  Samuel,  as  they  turned  into 
Broadway. 

"  To  Mrs.  Jones's,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  who  had  possession 
of  his  left  arm.  "  Miriam  was  down  to  see  her  this  morning, 
a.nd  found  her  in  so.  very  distressing  a  state,  that  she  promised  to 
bring  me  to  her  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that !"  said  the  young  man. 

"  To  hear  what,  Samuel  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend,  looking  up  at 
him  in  surprise.  "  That  Mrs;  Jones  is  in  distress  1" 

"  No — you  could  not  think  that.  But  to  learn  that  Miss  Sel- 
den  has  been  to  see  the  poor  lady." 

"  Why,  Samuel,  is  there  anything  strange  in  that  ?" 

"  No  ;  of  course  not.  But  still  it  is  a  very  great  relief  to  me 
to  learn  it.  I  had  done  Miss  Selden  serious  injustice,  which  I 
take  this  occasion  to  confess,  and  to  entreat  her  pardon !" 

Miriam  attempted  to  speak,  but  her  agitation  prevented  her. 

"  What  have  you  reference  to  V  asked  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  I  had  the  impression,"  answered  Samuel,  "  that  Miss  Selden 
listened  with  a  cold  ear  to  my  statement  of  the  unhappy  condi 
tion  of  Mrs.  Jones  ;  and  the  idea  gave  me  great  pain.  And  then, 
too,  her  apparent  indifference  to  a  fellow-creature's  misery  con 
trasted  so  strongly  with  Miss  Landon's  noble  readiness  and  gen 
erosity,  that  I  could  scarcely  credit  it.  For  a  time  it  shook  my 
faith  in  one  whom  I  had  learned  to  love  like  a  sister.  I  cannot 

(185) 


186          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

express  the  grief  which  it  gave  me  through  the  night.  It  dis 
turbed  me  even  in  my  dreams.  You  will  understand  this  bet 
ter,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Miriam, "  when  I  mention  that, 
when  thinking  of  you,  I  have  often  said  to  myself:  '  Had  I  been 

blessed  with  a  sister,  she  would  be  like  Miriam,  good  as  Miriam, 
gentle  as  Miriam,  pure,  benevolent  and  kind  as  Miriam.'  But  I 

see  now  how  wrongfully  I  misjudged  you ;  and  I  sincerely  en 
treat  your  pardon !" 

Miriam  bowed  the  forgiveness  which  she  could  not  speak.  Her 
heart,  to  use  a  vulgar  but  forcible  expression,  was  in  her  throat. 
She  was  very  pale ;  but  fortunately  for  her  feelings,  it  was  not 
observed  by  him  upon  whose  arm  she  now  leaned  so  heavily  for 
support. 

Her  aunt,  who  intuitively  comprehended  the  condition  of  her 
feelings,  stepped  forward  at  once  to  her  relief. 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  know  Miriam.  She 
makes  no  parade  of  her  sympathies  or  of  her  benevolence.  She 
is  one  of  the  few  who  go  about  doing  good  in  silence." 

"  Dear  aunt — "  interrupted  Miriam,  imploringly. 

"  Nay,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  invade  your  delicacy,  nor  can  I  suffer  Samuel  to  labor  under 
a  misapprehension  concerning  one  I  love.  I  must  add,  Samuel, 
that  your  first  impression  of  Miriam  was  correct;  your  second 
one,  wrong." 

"  Ah,  madam,"  replied  Samuel,  "  you  cannot  conceive  how 
happy  it  makes  me  to  hear  you  say  so.  For,  indeed,  my  second 
impression  made  me  very  sad  !" 

"  I  do  believe  the  handsome  fellow  loves  her  without  suspect 
ing  it!"  muttered  Mrs.  Townsend  to  herself.  "But,  dear  me! 
his  simplicity  and  frankness  are  making  sad  havac  with  poor 
Mirry's  feelings.  Poor  thing!''  she  continued,  stealing  a  glance 
At  her  niece,  "  she  is  as  pale  as  death.  I  must  change  the  topic, 


WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          187 

and  right  speedily.  How  very  stupid  in  mer  not  to  have  ordered 
the  carriage  !" 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  confess  your  error  so  ingenuously, 
Samuel,"  she  said,  aloud. 

"  I  could  not  do  less,"  returned  the  young  man,  "  even  to  an 
enemy,  let  alone  to  one  whom,  since  my  residence  under  your  roof, 
I  have  held  in  so  much  esteem." 

"  Poor  Miriam  !"  mutterd  Mrs.  Townsend  to  herself.  "  There's 
balm  for  you !  Tour  dreams  to-night  will  be  pleasanter  than 
your  last,  or  I  know  nothing  of  your  young  heart !" 

Then  changing  the  topic,  she  said  aloud — 

"  We  want  your  attention  this  evening,  Samuel,  to  Mrs. 
Jones's  case.  The  poor  lady,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  is  in  dis 
tress  concerning  her  soul." 

"  Ah !"  cried  Samuel,  in  a  tone  of  delight,  "  that  is  glorious 
news.  It  makes  me  very  happy  !" 

"  Happy,  Samuel  V  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  surprise. 

"  Dear  madam — can  you  ask — yow,  one  of  us  ?  What  sound 
more  joyful  to  the  Christian's  ear  than  the  sinner's  cry  for 
mercy  —  unless,  indeed,  it  be  the  transporting  burst  which 
announces  the  consciousness  of  forgiveness  1  Oh,  that  is  glorious 
indeed !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Wild  thoughts 
were  in  her  brain — a  deep  pang  in  her  heart.  The  noble  sim 
plicity,  the  Christian  grandeur  of  the  being  upon  whose  arm  she 
leant,  the  purity  of  his  spirit,  the  moral  sublimity  of  his  senti 
ments,  which  were  so  common  and  so  false  in  her  and  all  with 
whom  she  associated,  and  so  true  and  natural  in  him,  touched 
the  better  part  of  her  nature,  and  filled  her  breast  with  sensa 
tions  and  her  mind  with  thoughts  which  were  new  to  her.  Ah ! 
little  dreamed  the  two  pure  hearts  with  whom  she  was  walking 
of  the  agony  of  that  soul  which  was  now  suffering  with  its  first 
spiritual  remorse ! 


188         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"  But  how  did  this  good  thing  come  about  ?"  asked  Samuel. 
"  I  saw  Mrs.  Jones  last  evening,  but  there  were  no  indications 
of  that  nature  then.  I  made  an  effort  to  lead  her  thoughts  to 
the  subject,  but  it  was  attended  with  no  perceptible  success.  In 
fact,  the  lady  frowned  upon  the  attempt,  and  seemed  to  regard  it 
in  the  light  of  an  insult.  And  now  you  tell  me  that  she  is,  after 
all,  in  contrition  before  our  King  and  Prince.  O,  what  joy — 
what  glory  !  How  very  good  the  Lord  is  !" 

"  Pure,  innocent  heart !"  murmured  Mrs.  Towrisend.  "  And 
to  this  simplicity,  this  unalloyed  pleasure,  this  serenity  of  soul, 
Faith  brings  its  followers  !  What  a  world  of  happiness  I  have 
lost ! — and  for  what  ?  Lord,  help  me — Lord,  help  me!" 

This  veteran  in  the  littlenesss,  the  deceitfulness,  the  emptiness 
of  the  world,  was  experiencing  the  solid  joy  which  glides  slowly, 
gradually,  and  almost  imperceptibly,  into  the  heart  of  the  world 
ling,  when  in  the  company  of  the  pure.  She  was  conscious  of 
the  moral  atmosphere  which  the  presence  of  her  two  guile 
less  companions  threw  around  her.  The  sensation  was  a 
novel  one ;  it  touched  the  better  part  of  her  nature,  leaving  the 
baser  to  undisturbed  repose.  It  was  to  her  like  the  discovery  of 
a  new  happiness,  a  new  delight — a  holy  joy.  And  yet,  she  was 
at  the  same  time  conscious  that  it  was  a  feeling  which  could 
not  last ;  she  felt  that  she  had  no  legitimate  claim  to  it.  It  was 
a  happiness  which  only  belonged  of  right  to  the  legitimate  chil 
dren  of  God,  of  which  she  WAS  NOT  ONE.  With  them  it  was 
permanent ;  with  them,  a  perpetual  presence.  With  her,  a  plea 
sure  that  would  depart  when  they  departed ;  a  joy  that  would 
disappear  with  their  "  good-night,"  for  it  belonged  only  to  them 
selves  and  those  of  their  kind,  and  she  could  only  participate  in 
it  when  in  the  atmosphere  which  their  presence  hallowed. 

As  she  thought  of  all  this,  the  worldly  woman  felt  as  feels  a 
poor  ragged  child  when  looking  through  the  open  halls  of  a  rich 
mansion  filled  with  happy  children — only  the  rich  mansion  she 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          189 

was  looking  in  upon  was  heaven,  and  the  happy  children  the 
Redeemed. 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  recalled  from  her  reflections  by  Samuel, 
who  repeated  his  interrogatory — 

"  Are  you  aware  how  this  good  thing  came  about  1" 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  that  Miriam  knows  some, 
thing  about  it.  She  spoke  to  the  lady  this  morning  on  the  sub 
ject,  in  her  own  peculiar  way." 

"  Ah  !  good  !"  cried  Samuel.  "  It  makes  me  very  happy  to 
hear  this — happy  to  hear  that  the  lady  is  in  tribulation,  and 
happy  to  hear  that  our  dear  friend  has  been  the  favored  instru 
ment  of  leading  her  to  repentance." 

Miriam  trembled,  but  it  was  with  joy.  Her  eyes,  which  were 
modestly  cast  down,  gleamed  with  indescribable  pleasure. 

"  It  is  well  we  are  not  heard  by  the  passers-by,"  observed  Mrs. 
Townsend,  with  assumed  playfulness.  "  They  would  deem  it 
strange  to  hear  you,  Samuel,  rejoicing  over  another's  tribula 
tion." 

"  Ah  !  dear  madam,  the  tribulation  of  the  SOUL  1  A  joyful 
thing !  Because  it  tells  of  another  pilgrim  on  the  threshold  of 
of  His  mansion !  But,  Miss  Selden,  what  is  your  '  peculiar'  way 
of  touching^ the  heart,  that  our  dear  friend  speaks  of?  It  must 
be  worth  knowing,  since  it  has  proven  so  successful.  I  ask  because 
I  sometimes  find  it  very  difficult  to  convince  minds  of  the  ease 
with  which  they  can  find  joy,  if  they  will !" 

"  I  suspect,  Samuel,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  coming  up  gen 
erously  to  the  rescue  of  her  niece,  whom  this  question  somewhat 
disconcerted,  "  that  it  was  owing  in  part  to  the  fact  that  she  first 
nobly  put  the  lady's  mind  at  ease  concerning  temporal  want — " 

"  O,  dear  aunt !"  interrupted  Miriam,  "  how  can  you — " 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  I  see  no  harm 
in  telling  the  truth.  And  I  am  sure  Samuel  would  rather  hear 
that,  than  labor  under  a  wrong  impression." 


190  WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  You  but  do  me  justice,  dear  madam,"  said  Samuel.  "  I 
suspected  that  Miss  Selden's  visit  was  not  confined  to  spiritual 
good  alone.  There  is  something  noble  in  that  piety  which  walks 
hand  in  hand  with  benevolence.  Ah !  that  is  true  piety  !  Happy 
they  who  have  the  heart  to  feel  and  the  hand  to  give  in  the  same 
moment.  They  are  the  real  rich." 

"And  do  you  never  sigh  for  wealth,  Samuel1?"  asked  Mrs. 
Townsend. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Samuel,  in  a  tone  which  warmed  up  the 
heart  of  the  questioner ;  "  yes,  when  I  go  among  my  poor  friends 
— when  I  see  them  suffering,  and  many  of  them  do  suffer,  my 
dear  madam  ! — and  myself  without  means  to  relieve  them.  Then^ 
my  heart  is  sometimes  set  on  money  in  a  strange  way  !  Then 
I  yearn  for  some  of  the  riches  of  the  earth.  Then  I  am  some 
times  tempted  to  murmur  at  my  poverty ! 

"  There  is  a  wondrous  joy  in  wealth.  It  will  relieve  so  much 
want,  banish  so  much  affliction,  dry  so  many  tears 

"Ah !  could  you  but  go  with  me  to  the  haunts  of  the  poor 
and  lowly,  and  see  how  much  happiness  a  solitary  dollar  will 
create  in  hearts  that  have  no  dollars ! 

"  Could  you  but  go  with  ine  to  the  cell-like  room  which  serves 
at  once  for  parlor,  kitchen,  and  bed-chamber  fgr  a  family  of  four 
or  five — its  head  lying  down  on  a  thin  couch  of  straw,  in  a 
corner,  helpless  with  suffering,  and  only  able  to  assist  his  family 
with  his  sighs,  his  tears,  and  his  prayers — helpless  with  con 
sumption,  with  rheumatism,  or  some  other  pitiless  disease — his 
pale  wife  wasting  away  over  the  needle  or  the  wash-tub — 
wasting  away  with  penury,  which  all  her  energies  can  scarce  keep 
from  the  door ;  wasting  away  with  grief  for  the  sufferings  of 
her  beloved,  the  stricken  one,  in  the  corner ;  wasting  away  with 
anguish  at  the  sight  of  the  lean,  wan  little  ones,  whose  sole  de 
pendence  is  in  her  alone  for  bread  ;  wasting  away  with  iron  toil 
which  has  already  worn  her  thinner  than  the  stricken  one  on  the 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  191 

straw ;  wasting  away  with  that  consuming  fire  which  enters  the 
heart  of  every  mother  when  she  sees  her  little  ones  pale  and 
feeble  with  hunger,  and  mutely  imploring  her  for  bread,  which 
she  has  not  to  give  them;  wasting  away  with  that  corroding 
anguish  which  enters  the  heart  of  every  woman  when  she  sees 
the  manly  form  on  which  her  eye  rested  brightest  in  the  summer 
hours  of  her  youth,  now  prostrate  in  a  corner,  held  down  by 
want  and  disease,  with  scarce  enough  left  of  courage  to  reward 
her  devotedness  with  a  smile — to  see  that  eye  which  beamed  once 
upon  her  in  all  its  pure  affection,  all  its  loving  pride,  bright  now 
only  with  the  intensity  of  bodily  suffering  and  of  mental  anguish — 
to  see  the  lip  that  once  spoke  to  her  young  heart  of  a  golden  voyage 
over  life's  broad  ocean,  now  thinned  with  want  and  quivering  with 
pain — to  see  him  who  was  once  the  one-thought  of  her  girlish 
heart — him  the  first,  the  only  winner  of  her  young  love,  lying 
there  before  her,  helpless,  broken  in  spirit  and  in  body — and  she 
the  faithful,  the  fond,  the  patient,  the  industrious,  the  devoted, 
with  but  little  to  help,  to  save  him — dreading  every  day  the 
coming  morrow,  lest  she  herself  should  wear  out,  and  her  love 
and  her  loved  ones  be  left  all  alone : — could  you  but  see,  with 
me,  the  joy  of  that  stricken  man,  the  delight  of  his  patient,  and 
equally  suffering  mate,  the  hope  which  lights  up  the  faces  of  the 
little  ones  at  sight  of  a  solitary  dollar  kindly  given — you  would 
yearn,  as  I  do,  were  you  in  my  place,  for  a  little  of  that  wealth 
which  can  make  so  many  poor  hearts  glad  ! 

"  Could  you  but  go  with  me  to  the  lone  chambers  of  the 
stricken  poor,  and  listen  to  their  plaintive  sighs,  to  their  touching 
tales  of  bodily  suffering,  you  would  sink  with  grief  and  sympa 
thy.  For  the  poor  things  have  each  their  little  story,  and  they 
are  all  of  the  same  sad  burden — want  and  misery.  They  have 
their  little  bills  at  the  grocer's  to  pay,  before  they  can  get  trusted 
for  any  more;  and  rheumatism— that  eternal  worrier  of  the 
poor — has  them  in  its  fangs.  '  Could  they  but  pay  up  those  little 
bills  of  the  grocer's  and  of  the  apothecary's,  they  would  get 


192  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

along  well  enough.*  Yes,  'then  they  would  feel  more  encouraged, 
then  they  could  get  a  little  more  credit,  and  a  little  more  medi 
cine,  and  then  they  would  ft  el  braver,  and,  in  time,  they  would 
get  well  enough  to  rise  up  and  go  to  work,  and  so  glide  out  of 
debt  altogether.'  If  you  could  only  see  what  a  single  dollar  will 
do  among  hearts  like  these ;  how  it  will  make  the  wan  woman 
smile,  and  the  feeble  man  strong  ;  how  it  will  put  fresh  courage 
into  breasts  whom  want  and  suffering  have  cowed  down*;  how  it 
will  make  a  faint,  despairing  eye  brighten  up  with  hope,  and 
an  unnerved  lip  exclaim,  '  Yes,  I  am  better,  now — I  feel  that  I 
can  bear  my  torments  easier,  now ;  yes,  I  am  much  cheerfuller 
now ;  yes,  the  Lord  is  very  good  to  me,  now' — you  would  not 
marvel  that  I  sometimes  pine  for  a  little  of  that  wealth  which 
will  send  joy  to  so  many  suffering  hearts  !" 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  the  existence  of  such  poverty,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Townsend,  as  Samuel  concluded.  "  Did  you,  Mirry  ?" 

"  I  have  witnessed  some  of  it,  aunt,"  returned  Miriam, 
timidly. 

"  And  you  never  mentioned  it  to  me  1  And  you  have  selfishly 
monopolized  the  relieving  of  it  ?  Why,"  she  added,  a  mo 
ment  later,  "  what  a  flood  of  light  is  bursting  upon  me — what 
new  world  is  this  which  you  are  opening  to  me  ?  Miriam — " 

"Dear  aunt — " 

"  Why  have  you  concealed  your  secret  pleasure  so  long  from 
me  *  I  am  almost  vexed  with  you !" 

41  Oh,  dear  aunt — " 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,  say  no  more  about  it.  But  remember, 
in  future,  I  must  share  in  this  pleasure.  And  you,  too,  Samuel 
— to  keep  your  sources  of  happiness  all  alone  to  yourself,  and  to 
deprive  your  worthy  friends  of  assistance  when  you  knew  my 
purse  was  overflowing !  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself, 
sir?" 

"  That  I  did  wrong,  dear  madam.     In  future,  however — 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          193 

"  In  future,  sir,  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  you  will  find  an 
inclosure  every  Monday  evening  on  the  parlor  mantel,  directed 
to  a  Mr.  Samuel  Leland,  who  will  scatter  it  according  to  his  best 
judgment  among  his  stricken  friends  !" 

"  Dear  madam  !"  cried  Samuel,  his  voice  trembling  with  emo 
tion,  "  you  make  me  very  happy.  I  know  so  many  hearts — 
deserving  ones  ! — who  will  be  made  glad  by  this !  Ah  !  it  takes 
so  little,  so  very  little,  to  light  up  wan  faces,  and  ease  couches  of 
pain.  I  thank  you,  madam — I  thank  you  !" 

Let  us  add  here,  that  the  merchant's  wife  kept  her  word. 

A  few  minutes  later  brought  the  party  to  the  laundress's. 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

MRS.  FARLEY  received  the  visitors  with  a  sort  of  subdued 
cordiality,  which  impressed  them  with  the  conviction  that  spme- 
thing  unusual  had  happened. 

Samuel  spoke  up  at  once,  with  his  usual  frankness. 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  us,  Mrs.  Farley  ]" 

The  laundress  pointed  to  the  door  of  the  front  room. 

"  The  poor  lady  is  in  there,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  and  I 
fear  all  is  not  well  with  her  here,"  she  added,  touching  her  fore 
head  with  her  finger. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  Not  out  of 
her  mind  ?" 

'•  She  appeared  quite  well  this  morning,  Mrs.  Farley,"  said 
Miriam. 

0 


194         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

"  Some  one  has  been  here  since  then,  and  brought  bad  news," 
suggested  Samuel. 

"  That's  it,"  whispered  the  laundress.  "  One  of  her  sisters — 
a  Mrs.  De  Witt." 

"A  malignant  creature !"  remarked  Mrs.  Townsend;  "cold, 
selfish,  and  unfeeling ;  a  woman  whose  presence  is  acknowledged 
with  a  shiver,  and  whose  departure  is  followed  by  a  sense  of  re 
lief;  a  sower  of  dissension,  mischief,  anxiety,  and  slander ;  \vhose 
track  is  ever  marked  with  misery  and  tears;  an  utterer  of  bitter 
things  ;  a  spirit  of  evil !" 

Samuel  shuddered  at  this  portrait.  He  glanced  unconsciously 
on  his  left,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  its  original  at  his  elbow. 

Miriam  trembled  uneasily. 

Mrs.  Farley  sighed.  She  remembered  the  cruel  words  which 
the  evil  woman  had  thrown  at  her  own  poor  timid  boy,  and  the 
misery  which  they  had  produced. 

"What  did  this  woman  do  or  say  to  Mrs.  Jones?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Townsend,  who  alone,  of  all  the  party,  retained  her  self- 
possession. 

"  She  brought  her  bad  news,"  said  the  laundress. 

"  Bad  news  it  must  have  been,  or  none  at  all.  Mrs.  De 
Witt  could  be  the  bearer  of  none  other.  What  was  its  tenor?" 
said  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  That  Mr.  Jones  had  failed  intentionally  ;  that  he  had  pur 
posely  abandoned  his'  wife,  and  forever;  that  he  had  eloped 
with  a  married  woman — a  Mrs.  Clarke — who  joined  him  at  Bos 
ton;  and  that,  when  last  heard  from,  they  were  bound  for 
Europe  and  the  Rhine." 

"  And  they  were  both  members  of  our  church  !"  said  Mrs. 
Townsend. 

"  And  this  Mrs.  De  Witt — she  too  is  a  member  of  our  church, 
is  she  not  ?"  asked  Samuel,  uneasily. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Townsend.     "  But  why  do  you  ask  V 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          195 

"  What  can  the  preaching  be  that  brings  forth  such  fruits  ?"  re 
turned  Samuel,  sorrowfully.  "  And  yet  there  may  be  others 
there,  who  meditate  the  same  dreadful  course.  They  must  be 
saved,  ere  it  is  too  late.  One  word  might  do  it — one  little  word. 
Lord,  help  them  and  me!" 

"  The  preaching !"  repeated  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  Why,  what  can 
that  have  to  do  with  it  ?" 

The  young  Christian  surveyed  the  questioner  with  an  air  of 
mingled  sorrow  and  surprise. 

"  Have  to  do  with  it !"  he  said.  "  Everything.  What  is  the 
duty  of  a  shepherd,  but  to  look  to  the  welfare  of  his  flock  1  And 
do  these — the  Clarkes,  the  Joneses,  and  the  De  Witts — give 
evidence  that  they  have  been  looked  after  7" 

"  They  do  not.  But,  what  then  1  A  pastor  can  only  tell  his 
people  what  to  do ;  if  they  fail  to  follow  his  direction,  the  fault 
is  not  with  him,  but  themselves." 

"True,"  returned  Samuel.  "But  there  is  a  kind  of  preaching 
which  persuades  its  auditors  to  rouse  up  from  their  dream  of  sin, 
and  walk  in  the  way  of  righteousness  like  MEN  !  The  preaching 
that  lulls  its  hearers  into  silken  indifference  is  not  blessed,  be 
cause  it  is  not  of  Christ.  The  business  of  a  spiritual  shepherd  is 
to  stir  up  the  hearts  of  his  charge  incessantly  to  an  EARNEST  sense 
of  their  danger,  until  he  knows  that  all  are  within  the  ark  of 
safety.  This  kind  of  preaching  is  approved  of  God  and  men, 
because  it  is  of  God.  But  the  preaching  that  brings  forth  such 
fruits  as  the  Clarkes,  the  Joneses,  and  the  De  Witts,  is  not  of 
God,  because  the  fruits  are  evil !" 

"  Samuel !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  looking  at  the  young  man 
strangely. 

"  Nay,  do  not  fear  for  me,  dear  friend,"  returned  Samuel,  with 
a  serene  smile.  "  I  understand  you.  But  have  no  misgivings.  I 
am  in  His  keeping  !"  ;*qj. 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  somewhat  awed  by  the  majestic  gesture 


196          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

*Thich  accompanied  his  words,  while  she  was  at  the  same  time 
somewhat  disturbed  by  the  young  man's  energy.  She  turned 
an  inquiring  glance  at  Miriam  ;  but  the  latter  reassured  her  by 
a  smile  which  was  angelic  in  its  confidence. 

This  silent  but  expressive  response  was  certainly  encouraging ; 
but  it  was  not  wholly  satisfactory. 

In  fact,  the  mind  of  the  merchant's  wife,  although  partially 
illumined,  was  yet  too  worldly  in  its  conceptions  to  comprehend 
the  simple  earnestness,  the  childlike  simplicity,  and  the  trusting 
confidence  of  the  heart  that  walks  solely  in  the  light  of  the 
Divine  Eye. 

" '  Preaching  that  brings  forth  such  fruits' — '  save  the  rest  ere 
it  is  too  late,'  "  she  repeated,  mentally.  "  Surely  he  cannot  ex 
pect  to  revolutionize  the  pulpit !  I  tremble  "for  his  wits !" 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  inform  Mrs.  Jones  that  we  are 
here  ?"  said  Samuel  to  the  laundress,  in  a  tone  which  did  little 
towards  favoring  Mrs.  Townsend's  suspicion.  "  Perhaps  if  you 
were  to  add  that  Miss  Selden,  who  visited  her  this  morning,  is 
present,  it  might  have  a  favorable  influence  upon  her  decision.  1 
can  readily  understand  why  she  desires  to  avoid  visitors — and 
her  feelings  are  very  natural,  and  under  ordinary  circumstances 
should  be  respected.  But  you  are  one  of  us,  and  you  doubtless 
see  that  this  is  one  of  those  peculiar  occasions  when  a  temporary 
feeling  must  be  gently  sacrificed  for  the  sake  of  that  which  is 
eternal.  Do  go,  there's  a  good  soul !" 

"  I  will,  cheerfully,"  said  Mrs.  Farley,  whose  pure  mind  in 
tuitively  comprehended  the  noble  thought  which  shone,  like  a 
celestial  light,  in  the  young  Cnristian's  eye :  a  light  which  gave 
Mrs.  Townsend  serious  concern. 

The  laundress  passed  through  the  narrow  door  on  her  errand, 
and  disappeared. 

Samuel  cast  his  mild,  dark  eye  upen  the  floor.     An  air  of 


WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  197 

mournful  thought  darkened  his  brow,  which  was  usually  so 
serene. 

Mrs.  Townsend  observed  him,  silently. 

Samuel  was,  in  fact,  materially  disturbed.  He  had  till  within 
a  few  moments  labored  under  the  impression  that  Mrs.  Towns- 
end's  assumed  piety  was  real — that  she  was,  in  fine,  what  she 
professed  to  be — one  of  the  Redeemed.  But  this  impression  the 
lady  had  herself  swept  away  by  her  ill-timed  remark,  by  her 
implied  doubt  of  his  sanity  when  he  called  on  the  Lord  for  help, 
and  by  her  mingled  skepticism  and  alarm  when  he  proclaimed 
himself  in  the  keeping  of  his  Maker. 

His  trusting  confidence  in  God,  his  childlike  simplicity,  the 
beatific  expression  of  his  eye — those  unerring  signs  which  enable 
a  Christian  to  recognize  a  brother  or  sister  in  Christ,  as  in  lesser 
organizations  brethren  recognize  each  other  by  certain  motions 
known  only  to  the  affiliated — the  lady  had  mistaken  for  the 
premonitory  symptoms  of  madness  ! 

Samuel  was  grieved  at  this  mournful  discovery.  It  added  to 
his  gentle  heart  another  anxiety.  To  his  already  overburdened 
back  it  was  an  additional  burden.  At  his  never-ceasing  hands  it 
called  out  for  "  More  work — more  work."  It  was  a  soul  in 
peril,  which  he  had  all  along  imagined  to  be  out  of  danger.  And 
more  and  more  he  realized  the  importance  of  another  kind  of 
preaching  than  that  which  lulled  its  hearers  into  a  silken  con 
fidence  in  surface-piety — a  piety  which  is,  and  which  is  known  to 
be,  a  mere  pretence. 

But  Samuel  had  not  alone  made  this  startling  discovery. 
Miriam  had  perceived  it  as  well,  and  by  the  same  unerring  signs. 
It  fell  upon  her  tender  heart  like  an  unexpected  blow.  It  drove 
the  joy  from  her  eye,  the  glow  from  her  cheek.  While  to  Samuel 
it  was  another  anxiety,  to  her  it  was  an  additional  sorrow,  and 
a  new  incitement  for  private  prayer. 

And  yet  both  of  these  fine,  delicate  natures  were  ignorant  of 


198          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  fact  that  the  object  of  their  mutual  solicitude  had,  that  eve 
ning,  experienced  a  certain  degree  of  genuine  spiritual  contrition  ; 
and  that  that  contrition  promised  to  uproot  the  crust  of  more 
than  half  a  century  of  pride,  littleness,  and  solemn  hypocrisy,  and 
let  in  rays  of  heavenly  light  upon  her  guilt-imprisoned  soul,  for 
the  first  time. 

The  lady  herself  was  perfectly  conscious  of  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  her  heart..  She  hoped  it  would  penetrate  deep 
enough  to  thoroughly  purify  her  spirit,  and  imbue  it  with  the 
same  guileless  tone  which  marked  the  thoughts  and  utterances  of 
her  two  young  friends.  She  hoped  this;  but  she  felt  no  disposi 
tion  to  make  any  personal  effort  to  secure  it.  She  hoped  it  would 
place  her  in  a  state  of  beatitude  of  its  own  power  and  accord. 
But  she  was  neither  willing  nor  unwilling  to  assist  it,  or  resist  it. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  to  second  the  Silent  Power  which  was 
working  within  her,  it  would  be  necessary  to  ennerve  herself;  to 
call  up  every  energy ;  'to  concentrate  all  her  thoughts  into  one, 
and  to  throw  herself,  as  it  were,  like  a  heroine,  into  the  breach, 
and  battle  for  a  time  bravely,  heroically,  almost  superhumanly, 
with  all  that  was  evil  in  her  nature — invoking,  in  the  meanwhile, 
with  all  the  strength  and  confidence  of  an  earnest  mind,  the 
Prince  of  Righteousness  to  aid  her  in  the  fight.  But  to  do  this, 
it  would  be  necessary,  first,  to  summon  up  all  the  forces  of  her 
WILL,  and  to  bring  them  and  it  under  her  control.  But  this 
required  courage,  or  rather  effort,  and  that  she  felt  herself  unequal 
to.  Not  that  she  was  unequal  to  it ;  but  she  thought  she  was — 
that  is  to  say,  she  wished  to  think  so.  She  then  flattered  herself 
that  there  was  no  absolute  necessity  for  immediate  action ;  that 
any  other  time  would  do  as  well ;  that  the  world  did  not  disturb 
itself  about  the  matter,  and  that  if  it  didn't,  why  should  she ; 
but  that,  so  far  as  she  was  herself  concerned,  she  would  bring  her 
mind  to  the  proper  point,  some  time  or  other  ;  but  not  now — no» 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  199 

not  NOW;  and  thus  the  blessed  moment  passed  by,  but  without 
blessing  her  on  the  way. 

Mrs.  Farley  was  successful.  She  returned  to  the  visitors  in  a 
few  minutes,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Jones. 

Miriam  was  startled  at  the  change  which  had  come  over  the 
latter  since  the  morning.  A  few  hours  had  done  upon  her  the 
work  of  twenty  years.  She  was  pale,  haggard,  and  wan.  Her 
brow  was  of  a  cadaverous  hue.  Her  eyes  were  sunken,  while  a 
dark  tinge  beneath  their  lower  lids  intensified  their  hollowness. 
Her  proud,  handsome  lip,  had  lost  its  spirit.  Her  haughty  air 
was  gone.  Her  firm  step  was  succeeded  by  an  undecided  shuf 
fling.  She  was  the  picture  of  a  broken  woman — of  helpless 
humility — of  timid  despair. 

She  greeted  her  visitors  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  imply 
an  instinctive  consciousness  of  her  own  inferiority.  All  present, 
save  the  laundress,  observed  this  marked  change  in  the  poor 
woman's  manner  with  mingled  grief  and  amazement. 

Mrs.  Townsend  glanced  at  Samuel ;  but  his  eye  was  fixed 
thoughtfully  upon  the  broken  spirit  who  was  sitting  beside  the 
laundress.  She  glanced  at  Miriam ;  but  her  gaze  was  settled 
upon  the  same  touching  ruin.  She  glanced  at  Mrs.  Farley  ;  but 
her  orbs  were  also  upon  the  poor  timid  wreck  of  what  was  so 
proud,  and  strong,  and  brave  in  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  embarrassed — uneasy.  She  could  scarcely 
retain  her  seat.  She  felt  strongly  inclined,  or  rather  tempted,  to 
spring  from  her  chair  and  fly.  She  had  but  one  thought — one 
conviction :  that  the  poor,  meek  woman  who  looked  so  humble, 
so  helpless,  so  timid,  and  so  void  of  all  hope,  was  stark,  staring 
MAD  ! 

Far  different  were  the  thoughts  of  her  companion.  Their 
simple  minds  never  dreamt  of  deserting  a  fellow-being  in  dis 
tress. 


200          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  We  have  called,"  said  Samuel,  in  his  frank,  unaffected  way, 
"  to  see  if  we  can  help  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  returned  the  helpless  woman,  casting 
her  eyes  down  timidly,  "  and  I  thank  you  very  much,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Mad  ! — crushed  down  to  a  willing  dependence  upon  charity  !" 
mused  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  I  never  could  have  believed  this  in 
one  of  her  haughty  blood  !" 

"  We  will  secure  you  from  want,"  dear  friend,  continued 
Samuel,  whose  heart  bled  at  the  poor  creature's  misery  ;  "  you 
and  your  child." 

"  My  child  !"  cried  the  woman,  with  a  slight  start,  and  her 
eyes  lit  up  for  a  moment  with  an  energetic  flash.  But  the  light 
subsided  again,  and  then  she  looked  down  with  the  same  blank, 
spiritless  expression  as  before. 

"Yourself  and  child,"  repeated  Samuel,  "will  be  provided 
for.  Be  comforted,  dear  lady,  and  do  not  look  so  sad." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  woman,  meekly.  "  You 
are  very  good,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure." 

Samuel  observed  her  attentively  for  a  few  moments.  An 
idea  struck  him. 

"  Where  is  baby  now  1"  he  asked. 

The  poor  creature  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

"  Baby  T  she  said. 

"  Baby,"  repeated  Samuel.     "  Where  is  she  now  T 

"  You  want  to  take  her  away  ?"  said  the  woman,  fixing  her 
eyes  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Samuel.  "  That  would  be  cruel.  Baby 
would  cry,  baby  would  scream,  baby  would  pine  and  die." 

The  woman  eyed  him  still,  as  if  her  suspicion  was  strength 
ened  rather  than  weakened  by  his  reply. 

Samuel  understood  the  character  of  her  thoughts. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          201 

"  We  do  not  want  to  take  baby,"  he  said. 
"  You  think  I  will  give  her  to  you  1"  returned  the  woman, 
with  a  quivering  lip. 

"  Will  you  give  her  to  us?  We  can  take  better  care  of  her 
than  yourself.  Besides,  you  may  come  once  in  a  while  to  see 
her  !" 

The  poor  woman  regarded  him  steadily,  but  made  no  answer. 
"Ada,"  said  Samuel. 
The  woman  started. 

"  That  is  her  name,  is  it  not  1  Come,  now,  do  give  her  to  us. 
We  are  better  off  than  you,  and  can  of  course  take  better  care 
of  her.  She  is  a  pretty  child,  and  ought  to  be  looked  after. 
Give  her  to  us  !" 

The  woman  looked  at  him  silently,  and  with  an  air  of  touch 
ing  reproach,  while  he  spoke.  A  light  glow  ascended  slowly  to 
her  chin,  from  that  to  her  cheeks,  and  from  that  to  her  brow. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  with  returning  intelligence.  The  quivering  of 
her  lips  quickened.  Her  chair  trembled  beneath  her  agitated 
frame.  Sanity  was  coming  back — urged  on  by  her  maternal  love 
and  fears,  which  were  now  thoroughly  aroused.  She  put  out  her 
hand  to  the  laundress,  as  if  invoking  her  protection,  darted  at 
the  young  man  a  mournfully  reproachful  glance,  and  then,  with 
a  loud  sob,  bowed  her  head  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  friend, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

Intelligence  reigned  again  in  the  poor  woman's  mind. 
Samuel  had  worked  out  his  idea  ! 
No  one  had  understood  it,  however. 

Miriam  sprang  to  her  feet  to  console  the  unhappy  lady.     But 
Samuel  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Keep  your  seat,  Miss  Selden,"  he  said,  gently.    "  Let  her 
weep !" 

Miriam  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

9* 


202         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Mrs.  Townsend  surveyed  him  with  an  expression  which  said, 
"  You  are  cruel !" 

"  Her  mind  was  in  a  state  of  stupefaction — tears  alone  would 
relieve  it,"  said  Samuel.  "  She  will  be  better  now.  I  thought 
you  would  have  comprehended  it." 

This  explanation  was  perfectly  satisfactory.  Miriam  uttered 
a  sigh  of  relief,  and  returned  to  her  chair. 

Samuel  waited  until  the  sobbing  had  ceased,  and  then  ap 
proached  the  unhappy  lady.  . 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  will  you  not  ?"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  tenderly  upon  her  arm. 

The  woman  looked  up  at  him.  Her  eye  was  brighter,  clearer ; 
and  though  her  features  still  retained  their  haggardness,  their 
former  air  of  helpless  stupidity  was  gone.  She  was  sane  again ; 
for  how  long,  was  yet  to  be  determined. 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Leland  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
What!  Mrs.  Townsend — and  you,  too,  MissSelden?  I  thank 
you  for  your  kindness.  I  had  almost  begun  to  think  myself  de 
serted.  How  is  Mr.  Townsend  f 

"  Quite  well,"  returned  the  lady  to  whom  this  question  was 
addressed. 

"  I  have  been  ill,  have  I  not  ?"  continued  the  woman,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Farley. 

"  A  fainting-fit  only,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  on  observing  the 
hesitation  of  the  latter.  "  But  you  are  now  quite  recovered." 

"  And  you  came  in  while  it  was  on  me1?  Really,  a  sorry  wel 
come  !"  Then  turning  to  Miriam,  and  taking  her  hand,  which 
she  pressed  tenderly,  "  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  that  I  haven't 
been  able  to  give  a  single  thought  to  what  we  were  talking  of 
this  morning  ?" 

"  You  have  had  other  matters  to  occupy  you  T 

"  Yes,  and  trying  ones,  too,  my  dear.  Nevertheless,  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you.  By-the-way,  Mr.  Leland — " 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  203 

"Yes,  madam—" 

"  I  have  a  message  for  the  lady  whom  you  brought  here  last 
evening.  Will  you  take  it  ?" 

"  Cheerfully,"  returned  Samuel. 

"  Thank  you.  Give  her  this,"  said  the  woman,  taking  a  letter 
from  the  mantel,  "  and  my  respects." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  Samuel,  putting  the  letter  into  his  breast 
pocket.  "  And  now,  will  you  do  me  a  favor  in  return  V' 

"  /  am  scarcely  in  a  position  to  grant  favors,  sir,"  replied  the 
lady,  with  a  smile  of  touching  sadness ;  "  still  I  think  I  can  safely 
promise  any  favor  you  may  ask  !" 

"  Which  implies— " 

"  That  I  have  the  highest  confidence  in  you,  sir,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Dear  madam,  you  make  me  very  happy.  I  shall  endeavor 
to  retain  your  good-will.  But  a  thought  strikes  me.  Pray, 
pardon  my  impoliteness — I  would  speak  a  word  in  private  with 
our  dear  friend  here." 

"It  is  granted,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  turning  to  Miriam,  while 
Samuel  approached  the  laundress,  and  whispered — 

"Dear  Mrs.  Farley,  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  We 
must  take  advantage  of  the  present  unclouded  condition  of  her 
mind,  and  save  her,  if  it  be  possible.  In  an  hour  her  insanity 
may  return,  and  then  her  case  will  be  hopeless.  We  must  lead 
her  to  Our  Prince  wliile  there  is  yet  time.  You  understand  me, 
do  you  not  1" 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  have  a  good  heart.  Do  let  us  save  her.  I 
had  the  doctor  here  a  little  before  dusk." 

"Well?" 

"  He  did  not  tell  me  so,  in  so  many  plain  words,  but  T  inferred 
from  his  manner  that  the  poor  lady  had  not  long  to  live.  Her 
heart  is  broken !" 

"  Not  three  days,"   said  Samuel.     "  It  is  written  in  her  face. 


204         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

In  three  days  she  will  be  at  the  bar  of  judgment;  and  if  unre 
pentant — " 

"  We  must  save  her,"  cried  the  laundress. 

"  With  His  help,  and  ere  an  hour.  Lord,  help  her  !  I  will 
send  Miss  Seld-en  to  you.  Prepare  her  to  assist  us  !" 

He  pressed  Mrs.  Farley's  hand,  and  returned  to  the  object  of 
his  anxiety. 

"Ah!    you   are   a   pretty   fellow,"    said   the   latter,    arch]} 
"Making  love  to  Mrs.  Farley  before  our  very  faces !" 

Samuel  smiled,  serenely,  as  he  replied — 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  add  to  my  enormity  by  asking  Miss 
Selden  to  speak  a  good  word  for  me.  Will  you  do  so  ?"  he 
added,  turning  to  Miriam. 

"  With  pleasure."  returned  the  latter,  rising. 

"You  cannot  deceive  me,  Mr.  Leland  !"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  shak 
ing  her  finger  at  him.  "You  have  some  plot  afoot  ?" 

"I  have,"  said  Samuel,  with  his  accustomed  frankness.  "  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  it  is  ?"  ^ 

And  taking  her  hand,  he  pressed  it,  and  looked  her  tenderly 
in  the  eye. 

"  You  are  one  of  my  favorites,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  I  can  take 
anything  from  you." 

"Anything?" 

"  Anything,  sir." 

"  Have  a  care,  dear  friend.     I  shall  put  you  to  the  proof  I" 

"  Do  so.     You  have  my  confidence." 

"Fully?" 

"Fully." 

"Then,  dear  lady,  come  with  me — " 

"Whither?" 

"  To  our  Prince — the  Redeemer !"  said  Samuel. 

"This,  then,  is  your  plot?"  said  Mrs.  Jones. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          205 

"Yes.  You  will  join  us  in  it,  will  you  not — for  His  sake, 
and  your  own  ?" 

His  interlocutor  surveyed  him  steadily  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  her  hand  still  remaining  in  his,  turned  her  eyes  down 
ward,  thoughtfully. 

All  present  observed  her  with  affectionate  interest. 

It  was  a  solemn  moment  to  every  one  in  the  apartment. 

At  least  three  hearts  fluttered  as  if  their  own  salvation  hung 
upon  that  one  woman's  will.  It  was  as  if  three  angels,  breath 
less  with  anxiety,  were  mutely  asking  her  to  consent  to  her  own 
salvation. 

At  length  the  woman  raised  her  head.  The  lashes  of  her  eyes 
were  moist.  The  muscles  of  her  lip  quivered.  Her  cheeks 
were  of  the  color  of  snow.  Her  breast  was  agitated. 

"  I  am  a  poor,  weak,  helpless  thing,"  she  said,  pressing  the 
young  Christian's  hand.  "  If  you  can  save  me,  do  so  !" 

"Not  I,  dear  madam,"  returned  Samuel,  "but  Our  Prince- 
He  is  good  and  gracious,  kinder  than  men  think.  Open  your 
heart  to  Him.  He  will  look  on  you  with  a  smile,  listen  to 
you  with  tenderness.  Speak  to  Him  freely,  unreservedly,  con 
tritely — believingly.  Nay,  be  not  afraid — He  will  welcome  your 
approach.  Reflect :  Heaven  is  worth  an  effort.  Cheer  up,  stand 
firm,  be  brave — a  little  while.  One  effort — one  brave  effort. 
Heaven  is  in  sight — cherubim  and  seraphim  looking  down." 

"  Nay,  do  not. ask  me,"  said  the  woman.  "I  thought  I  could, 
but  I  cannot.  I  have  neither  faith  nor  belief.  My  heart  is 
hardened.  I  believe,  and  I  don't  believe.  I  have  faith,  and  I 
have  no  faith.  I  know  I  am  in  danger,  but  I  do  not  see  my  way 
to  safety.  All  my  life,  I  have  heard  of  sin,  of  punishment — of 
repentance,  of  mercy ;  but  I  have  never  put  faith  in  them,  because 
those  around  me  did  not.  Example  influenced  my  heart,  and 
hardened  it.  It  is  still  influenced,  still  hardened  by  it.  If  I 
could  believe,  I  would — but  I  cannot ;  my  heart  will  not  let  me. 


206  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

I  might  say  I  believed,  but  it  would  be  untrue.  I  do  not  believe 
— nor  would  I  deceive  you  or  myself  by  a  pretence.  I  cannot 
believe ;  I  have  heard  either  too  much  or  too  little,  to  permit  me 
to  believe.  And  yet — " 

She  paused — hesitated. 

"  And  yet "  said  Samuel,  encouragingly. 

"  And  yet,"  faltered  the  impenitent,  "  if  I  could  see  these  things 
more  clearly,  perhaps — " 

She  hesitated,  and  paused  again. 

"  One  word,"  said  Samuel.  "  Aptly  is  The  Disposer  called 
of  men  The  JUST.  His  decrees  are  stern,  rigorous,  unchangeable* 
Whoso  breaks  them,  must  pay  the  penalty.  HE  has  said  it— HE, 
THE  KING,  who  goes  not  back  a  hair's  breadth  in  His  word." 

"Is  he,  then,  so  stern,  so  relentless1?" 

"Even  so  stern,  so  relentless;  Himself  hath  said  it:  'By 
the  deeds  of  the  law  shall  no  man  be  justified.'  '  /  change  not.' 
Spiritual  indifference  is  then  no  laughing  matter,  violation  of  His 
decrees  no  jest.  Let  who  will  mock,  let  who  will  revile,  let  who 
will  sneer  at  or  pass  them  heedless  by,  they  must  answer  for  it 
all,  one  day,  to  The  August — The  Just.1' 

"  Lost — lost !"  cried  the  other,  in  despair. 

"Not  yet,"  rejoined  Samuel.  '"Twixt  the  sinner  and  The 
Just  stands  one  whose  influence  with  The  Just  is  all-potent — 
whose  eye  is  mild  and  gentle,  whose  heart  is  full  of  pity,  tender 
ness,  and  love — JESUS,  the  Prince  ; 

"  Who,  knowing  the  terror — the  pitiless  rigor — of  the  Law, 
framed  a  compact  with  His  Father,  which  would  enable  all  who 
would  be  saved,  to  be  saved,  and  still  preserve  intact  the  justice 
and  solemnity  of  the  law  ; 

"  Who  came  down  from  heaven, 

"  Assumed  the  form,  and  all  the  tenderest  susceptibilities  to 
pain,  of  man, 

"  Endured  a  life  of  calumny,  of  persecution,  of  intense  suffering, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  207 

"  And  died  a  death  of  excruciating  agony, 

"  That  the  voluntary  sufferings  of  the  Son  of  God  might  meet 
the  rigorous  requirements  of  the  Law  of  God,  and  render  it  pos 
sible  for  ALL  to  come  to  God,  through  Him,  the  Prince  ; 

"  And  that  even  the  vilest  might  escape  the  stern  penalty  of 
sin,  by  simply  repenting  and  believing  in  Him,  the  Saviour. 

"  For  He  is  good,  gentle,  kind — Our  Prince  ; 

"  Loving,  and  beloved  of  His  Father,  The  King, 

"  Who  will  grant  mercy  to  all  who  will  ask  it  through  His 
Son,  The  Prince, 

"  Who  can  obtain  salvation  for  all  who  will  repent  and  believe, 
and  ask  it  of  Him  in  faith" 

Mrs.  Jones  looked  down,  again. 

"  You  see  it  all  clearly  now,  do  you  not  ?"  asked  Samuel, 
tenderly. 

"  Clearly—yes  !"  faltered  the  other. 

"  You  see,  then,  how  easy  a  thing  it  is  to  approach  Our  Prince ; 
and  how  gladly  He  will  hear  and  receive  you  1" 

The  poor  woman  was  pale,  trembling,  and  undecided. 

"  I  am  weak  and  broken,"  she  said.  "  Speak  to  Him  for  me. 
I  would  do  it  for  myself,  but  I  have  no  heart,  no  FAITH,  no  HOPE. 
The  world  has  led  me  astray,  and  I  have  been  a  half-consenting 
party  to  the  wrong.  Had  the  world  set  me  a  better  example,  I 
would  have  followed  it ;  it  did  not,  and  I  am — what  I  am.  Look 
at  me.  I  am  crushed,  worthless — with  no  hope  here,  none  for 
The  Beyond.  The  world  schooled  me  for  perdition,  and  I  al 
lowed  it  to  do  so  without  even  a  show  of  resistance.  The 
world  is  now  done  with  me ;  it  has  finished  its  work  upon  me, 
and  cast  me  off.  I  am  a  Miserable,  an  Unworthy,  a  Nothing. 
The  world  knows  it,  and  says  it ;  I  know  it,  and  confess  it.  If, 
in  the  face  of  all  this,  you  think  I  dare  offer  myself  to  Him,  I 
will  do  so;  if,  in  the  face  of  all  this,  you  believe  He  will  accept 
me — me,  who  am  so  unworthy  ;  me,  whom  the  world  rejects — 


208          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

then  lead  me  to  Him  ;  use  your  influence  with  Him  for  me. 
Lead  me  to  Him,"  she  added,  with  a  wild,  startling  sob,  "/or 
the  sake  of  a  poor,  crushed,  helpless  soul,  that  is  without  faith  and 
without  hope  /" 

"  Dear  madam,"  said  the  young  Christian,  with  emotion, 
"  faith  is  a  little  thing,  but  it  is  everything  with  our  Prince. 
With  it,  repentance  is  everything ;  without  it,  nothing." 

Mrs.  Jones  trembled,  and  said  huskily — 

"  You  talk  of  faith  and  repentance,  while  I  do  not,  cannot, 
even  repent !" 

"  Do  you  not  grieve  for  your  sins,  dear  madam  ?" 

"  I  do,  and  I  do  not.  I  desire  to  ;  but  the  world  has  hardened 
my  heart  so,  it  will  not  let  me.  I — I— cannot  take  hold  of  re 
pentance  earnestly.  Everything  seems  hollow  to  me.  I  have 
dwelt  so  long  amid  things  that  are  unreal — among  minds  that 
entertain  only  those  thoughts  which  flatter  their  own  silken  hol- 
lowuess,  hypocrisy,  and  convenience — driving  away  those  which 
do  not  favor  their  own  wishes,  that  I  have  no  faith  in  anything 
that  is  real.  I  know  that  this  is  all  wrong — that  is,  I  have  a 
presentiment,  a  sort  of  shadowy  idea — that  it  is  so.  But 
what  can  I  do  ?  Repent  1  But  how  shall  I  repent,  when  I 
have  only  a  heart  which  is  no  heart,  a  faith  which  is  no  faith,  a 
conviction  which  is  no  conviction,  a  certainty  which  is  not  a  cer 
tainty  f 

Samuel  trembled,  as  if  laboring  with  a  chill. 

"  No  faith  f  he  said. 

"  Not  a  grain.     Why  should  I  deceive  you  or  myself?" 

The  young  Christian  reflected  a  moment.  His  countenance 
was  sad — his  heart  torn  with  emotion.  He  silently  invoked 
the  Holy  Spirit  for  counsel.  At  length  a  new  thought  came 
to  him. 

"  One  word,  dear  madam,"  he  said.  "  The  imminency  of  your 
danger  is  great ;  still,  all  is  not  lost.  Will  you  hope  ?  Hope 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  209 

is  not  far  from  faith, — it  will  lead  you  to  it.  Our  Prince  is 
kind,  gentle,  good — O,  believe  it.  Hope  for  faith — for  pardon — 
for  safety,  and  He  will  come  to  your  aid.  Say  you  will  hope — 
say  it,  to  Him  /" 

"  Alas  !  I  cannot — I  have  no  hope  !" 

A  shade  of  agony  swept  over  the  features  of  the  young 
Christian. 

"  But,  do  hope.  Rouse  up — be  brave.  Ask  Him  for  it,  in 
hope,  and  He  will  send  it  to  you.  Do  hope.  It  is  indispensable. 
Try,  I  beseech  you !" 

The  impenitent  shook  her  head.     She  was  paler  than  marble. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  answered.     "  I  wish  for  it,  but  it  comes  not !" 

"  O,  dear  madam,  ask  for  it — cfo,  I  implore  you.  Ask  for  it. 
Courage.  One  effort,  now  ;  but  one — hopefully.  Not  all  I  can 
do,  not  all  the  world  can  do,  will  help  you,  without  an  earnest 
struggle  of  your  own.  Hope  !" 

"  I  cannot.  My  heart  is  cold,  hard.  The  evil  spirit  of  for 
mality,  which  has  governed  my  whole  life,  sits  upon  it  now,  and 
keeps  all  that  is  good  and  earnest  in  it — if  any  there  be — down." 

"  He  is  good — HE  !  He  will  remove  it,  and  send  you  faith, 
will  you  but  ask  it  in  hope.  Come,  be  brave  one  moment — one 
little  moment." 

Thus  adjured,  the  impenitent  resolved  upon  an  effort. 

She  raised  her  eyes,  as  if  to  heaven,  imploringly ;  anguish 
was  in  their  glance,  and  supplication,  and  sorrow — but  not  one 
ray  of  confidence.  It  was  an  appeal  from  helpless,  abject,  hope 
less  despair.  A  moment,  and  her  orbs  fell  again — despondent 
to  the  last ! 

A  nervous  shudder  darted  through  the  young  Christian's  frame. 
Tears  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

The  laundress  and  Miriam  were  already  sobbing. 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  moved.  Scenes  like  this  were  new  to  her. 
It  had  therefore  all  the  charm  of  novelty  ;  but  it  was  only  the 


210  WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OR  TFTE  LEFT. 

novelty  of  a  touching  play.  It  absorbed  her  mind,  agitated  her 
feelings,  called  forth  a  sympathizing  tear — but  nothing  more. 
The  spirit  of  vitalizing  grace,  which  had  visited  her  own  heart,  a 
little  while  before,  having  met  with  no  encouragement,  had 
passed  away,  leaving  her  as  it  had  found  her — an  every-day 
woman:  moderately  superior,  moderately  good,  moderately  cold? 
moderately  impressible,  moderately  worldly,  moderately  honest, 
moderately  pious,  moderately  deceitful,  and  moderately  respect 
able  ;  equally  ready  to  laugh  at  anything  that  was  amusing,  as 
to  give  a  tear  to  anything  which  appealed  to  her  sympathies  ;  as 
ready  to  listen  to  the  music  of  an  opera  as  to  a  chaunt  of 
praise  to  Jehovah  ;  as  ready  to  criticise  a  sermon  upon  the  plan 
of  salvation  as  a  disquisition  upon  dress  ;  as  ready  to  join  in  the 
tattle  of  a  converzatione,  as  in  a  discourse  upon  sacred  things ; 
and  as  ready  to  "  attend"  the  House  of  the  Lord  on  Sunday,  as 
"Burton's,"  or  the  ballet  on  Monday  evening.  She  was  Mrs. 
Townsend  again :  that  is  to  say,  Mrs.  Townsend  moved,  but  not 
aroused. 

"  Mrs.  Farley — Miss  Selden,"  said  Samuel,  in  an  agitated 
voice,  "  a  soul  is  trembling ;  and  the  house  which  it  inhabits  is 
trembling,  too.  Support  the  latter  with  your  hands,  the  former 
with  your  prayers." 

He  spoke  in  time ;  the  feeble  frame  of  the  unhappy  woman 
was  giving  way,  and  would  have  fallen,  a  moment  later,  but  for 
assistance. 

"  Let  us  kneel,"  said  the  young  Christian. 

"  Pray  for  me  !n  said  the  forlorn  woman,  in  a  weak,  imploring 
voice.  "  Pray  for  me.  I  v,vnl  to  hope,  but  I  cannot.  Pray  for 
me.  I  am  suffering  !" 

Samuel  bowed  his  head  u^on  his  hands,  through  which  trickled 
tears  of  molten  agony. 

"  Hope,  madam — hope  !*'  he  cried.     "  Hope,  I  beseech  you  !" 

"  I  cannot — I  cannot !" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  211 

"  Oh,  madam—" 

"  I  dare  not !"  said  the  woman,  with  a  cold  shudder.  "  It 
would  be  mockery.  I  have  no  hope.  But  save  me — Oh,  save 
me,  you  !  I  am  in  despair  !" 

"  One  word  will  do  it !"  whispered  Miriam,  through  her  sobs. 

"  One  word  !"  cried  the  humble  laundress. 

"  One  word !"  added  Samuel.  "  Say  it — for  your  soul's 
sake  !" 

"  I  cannot — I  dare  not !"  cried  the  agitated  woman.  "  But  do 
not  let  me  go.  I  feel  that  my  hours  are  numbered,  and — I — I — 
oh  !"  she  cried,  with  a  loud  burst,  "  hold  me — hold  me  ;  a  gulf, 
black,  cold,  and  dismal,  is  yawning  before  me.  Pray  for  me — 
pray  for  me.  If  you  have  hearts,  pray  for  me — hold  me — save 
me !" 

There  was  no  resisting  the  tone  of  this  appeal. 

The  next  instant,  the  voice  of  the  young  Christian  was  ascend 
ing  to  the  Holy  One. 

"  Heavenly  Father  !     We  are  suppliants  for  Thy  bo\mty. 

"  Look  down  in  pity  on  this  poor  soul,  who  sits  shivering  at 
Thy  door. 

"  The  world  and  her  own  heart  have  dealt  hardly  by  her ;  and 
she  had  neither  strength  nor  will  to  resist  their  cruel  mandates, 
their  bewildering  temptations. 

"  She  is  sore  and  aweary,  feeble  and  sad  ;  she  is  bowed  down 
with  afflictions,  which  press  upon  her  hard. 

"  Sorrow  is  in  her  heart,  wretchedness  upon  her  brow ;  gloom 
upon  her  soul.  Have  mercy  upon  her ! 

t;  Illumine  the  darkness  of  her  mind  with  the  light  of  Thy 
Divine  Eye ;  whisper  comfort  to  her  desponding  heart ;  shed 
hope,  in  all  its  rich  effulgence,  upon  her  shrinking  soul.  Have 
mercy  upon  her  ! 

"  Let  her  see  the  brightness  of  Thy  countenance  ;  let  her  feel 


212  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  gentle  kindness  of  Thy  hand  ;  let  her  hear  the  sweet  sound 
of  Thy  voice.  Have  mercy  upon  her  ! 

"  Say  to  her,  in  the  richness  of  Thy  mercy,  '  Daughter,  thy 
sins  are  forgiven  thee  !'  Have  mercy  upon  her  ! 

"  She  is  in  peril ;  and  she  implores  Thee  to  stretch  out  Thy 
hand  and  save  her.  Have  mercy  upon  her  ! 

"  She  has  come  to  Thy  gates,  hearing  of  Thy  great  goodness 
and  loving-kindness,  and  beseecheth  Thee  to  turn  her  not  away. 
Have  mercy  upon  her  ! 

"  She  is  helpless,  and  in  want ;  friendless,  and  in  sorrow  ;  and 
imploreth  Thee  to  take  her  in.  Have  mercy  upon  her ! 

"  She  asketh  Thee  for  succor,  shelter,  and  a  little  of  Thy  bread, 
which  is  life  and  health,  and  strength  and  raiment,  to  all  who 
partake  of  it.  Have  mercy  upon  her ! 

"  Smile  upon  her,  Father,  for  the  sake  of  Thy  dear  Son. 
Open  Thy  gate  unto  her,  and  let  her  in. 

"  Let  her  sing  the  song  of  gladness,  and  not  that  of  woe. 

"  Let  her  feel  the  kindness  of  Thy  hand,  and  not  its  wrath. 

"  Let  her  in,  for  the  sake  of  Thy  dear  Son,  who  died  that  she 
might  live. 

"  Let  her  within  Thy  Kingdom — save  her  from  that  of  the 
Evil  One,  who  is  Thine  enemy  and  hers.  Let  her  in ! 

"  She  will  be  grateful  to  Thee  for  Thy  loving-kindness.  Let 
her  in ! 

"  She  will  make  one  of  Thy  servants  ;  she  will  walk  in  Thy 
ways  ;  she  will  be  one  of  Thy  daughters  and  Thy  people.  Let 
her  in  ! 

"  She  will  join  the  Holy  Throng  in  singing  grateful  Hosannas 
to  Thee,  for  Thy  kindness,  Thy  mercy,  and  Thy  love. 

"  Have  mercy  upon  her,  for  Thy  Son's  sake  !     Let  her  in ! 

"  Hear  us,  we  beseech  Thee,  for  the  sake  of  Thy  beloved  Son, 
our  Prince,  our  Redeemer;  and  to  Thee  and  to  Thy  name  shal] 
be  the  glory  and  the  praise,  evermore  !" 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.          213 

"  Amen  !"  said  Miriam  and  Mrs.  Farley. 

"Break  off!"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  gently.  "The  poor  thing 
has  fainted  !" 

It  was  even  as  she  said.  The  nerves  of  the  agitated  impeni 
tent  were  totally  unstrung,  and  she  had  sunk  down  in  weakness 
and  insensibility.  -». 

Mrs.  Farley  brought  some  water  and  bathed  her  temples. 
Mrs.  Townsend  drew  forth  her  salts,  and  applied  the  vial  to  the 
poor  woman's  nostrils  ;  Miriam  and  Samuel  rubbed  her  hands. 

Success,  at  length,  crowned  their  efforts.  The  impenitent 
uttered  a  faint  sigh  and  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  but  without 
evincing  any  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  those  around  her. 

"  She  had  better  lie  down,"  observed  Mrs.  Townsend.  "  She 
is  unfit  to  be  here." 

Mrs.  Farley  and  Miriam  acted  upon  the  suggestion.  They 
raised  the  poor  woman,  and  bore  her  tenderly  to  a  bed  in  the 
front  room. 

She  sunk  upon  the  pillow  like  one  in  the  last  stage  of  exhaus 
tion. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  dear  ?"  asked  Miriam,  bending  over 
her  gently. 

The  woman  looked  up  at  her  with  a  cold,  blank  eye,  and  mut 
tered,  feebly— 

"  He  will  not  come  back — on  the  Rhine — with  Mrs.  Clarke — 
pretty  Christians — pretty  people  !" 

Her  auditors  looked  at  each  other,  sorrowfully. 

The  poor  creature  was  in  mental  darkness  once  more  ! 

Samuel  turned  away,  and  wept. 

Mrs.  Townsend  sighed. 

Miriam  bowed  her  head  upon  Mrs.  Farley's  breast,  and  sob 
bed.  ' 

The  maniac  surveyed  them  with  a  cold,  idiotic,  and  partially 
malignant  stare. 


214:          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  L  . 

"  Fine  clothes  you  wear !"  she  muttered,  addressing  Mrs. 
Townsend.  "  Is  your  heart  fine,  too  1  Oh,  I  know  you.  You 
are  a  worthy  woman,"  she  added,  satirically:  "you  are  one  of 
the  Mrs.  Clarkes !  Who  are  you  going  to  run  away  with  1 
Some  other  lady's  husband  ]  It  is  the  fashion,  you  know,  in  our 
church !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  shuddered,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  dear?'  said  Mrs.  Farley,  soothingly.  "  This 
lady  is  good — very  good.  She  is  your  friend,  too.  You  ought 
not  to  speak  to  her  in  that  way." 

The  demented  woman  laughed. 

"  I  know  her,"  she  said,  with  a  cunning  leer.  "  I  know  her  ! 
She  is  another  Mrs.  Clarke ;  and  you  will  know  her,  too,  if  you 
have  a  husband.  Look  out  for  her  !" 

"  I  cannot  bear  this !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Townsend,  quitting  the 
room. 

"  There,  dear.  Now  see  what  you  have  done !"  said  Mrs. 
Farley. 

"  Don't  let  her  take  my  child  !"  said  the  demented  creature,  in 
alarm.  "  Don't  let  that  bad  woman  take  my  child,  too  !" 

"  No  one  will  take  your  child,  dear  !"  said  Mrs.  Farley,  humor 
ing  her. 

"  I  see  them  !"  cried  the  poor  woman,  her  mind  wandering  off 
in  another  direction. 

"  See  them,  dear  ?     Whom  ?"  asked  the  laundress. 

"  My  husband  and  Mrs.  Clarke — sailing  in  a  steamboat — on 
the  Rhine.  But  I  don't  see  my  baby  !" 

"  Baby  is  here — baby  is  safe  !"  cried  a  little  voice  near  her. 
It  was  that  of  her  child,  who  had  been  aroused  from  its  slumbers, 
as  it  lay  on  the  bed,  and  who  was  now  creeping  to  its  mother's 
side,  through  the  blanket  and  quilt  which  it  had  thrown  off. 

The  poor  woman  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  catching  up  the 
child,  she  pressed  it  frantically  to  her  breast,  covering  it  with 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          215 

kisses,  and  giving  vent  to  her  maternal  joy  in  successive  bursts 
of  laughter. 

"  I  tremble  for  her !"  observed  Mrs.  Farley  to  Miriam.  "  She 
is  too  feeble  to  bear  up  against  so  many  shocks." 

"  I  will  stay  with  you  to-night,''  whispered  Miriam,  whose  mind 
had  been  disturbed  by  similar  thoughts,  "  and  watch  her  while  you 
sleep.  You  will  have  your  work  to  do  to-morrow,  and  to  do  it 
you  must  have  rest ;  while  I,  you  know,  can  sleep." 

The  laundress  thanked  her  with  a  grateful  glance  and  a  gentle 
pressure  of  the  hand. 

These  two  simple,  innocent  natures  understood  each  other. 
They  were  drawn  together  by  that  invisible  yet  positive  influ 
ence  which  links  the  pure  with  the  pure — an  influence  which  only 
they  who  have  passed  from  spiritual  death  unto  spiritual  life  can 
appreciate  or  comprehend.  Each  intuitively  recognized  in  the 
other  a  future  companion  in  the  bright  Beyond. 

Their  fears  were  not  unfounded.  Ere  long,  the  maniacal 
laugh  was  over ;  the  lips  ceased  their  kisses  ;  the  fire  in  the  eyes 
went  out,  the  eyes  themselves  closed,  the  arms  dropped  from 
around  the  child,  which  still  lay  upon  its  feeble  parent's  breast, 
and  the  poor  creature  succumbed  again  to  her  exhausting  weak 
ness,  with  a  low,  faint  sigh. 

Mrs.  Farley  took  off  the  child,  and  laid  it,  with  a  few  soothing 
words,  beside  the  mother,  in  which  position  it  fell,  after  a  little 
while,  into  A  quiet  slumber. 

Samuel  approached  the  bedside,  and  observed  the  distended 
woman  silently.  Her  breathings  were  low  and  faint ;  her  face 
sharp,  thin,  and  pale,  and  throwing  out  with  greater  boldness 
than  ever  the  dark  shadow  underneath  the  eyes. 

The  young  Christian  was  moved. 

Miriam  and  Mrs.  Farley  looked  at  him  as  if  soliciting  his 
opinion. 

"  She  will  be  gone  ere  the  morning,"  said  Samuel,  in  reply, 


216          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"  and  with  all  her  sins  upon  her.  Oh,  had  she  but  hoped,  for  a 
moment — for  a  single  moment !" 

"  Let  us  pray  for  her !"  suggested  Mrs.  Farley,  sobbingly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miriam,  "  with  our  hearts  !" 

They  dropped  upon  their  knees,  and  bowing  their  heads  on 
their  clasped  hands,  silently  beseeched  for  mercy  for  the  victim 
of  flippant  society  and  skeleton  religion. 

Mrs.  Townsend  returned  while  they  were  thus  engaged.  A 
single  glance,  and  she  comprehended  all.  Without  being  serious 
ly  touched,  she  dropped  involuntarily  into  an  attitude  of  prayer, 
as  much  for  appearance'  sake  as  from  a  sense  of  propriety. 

Half  an  hour  passed  away  thus,  and  then  Mrs.  Townsend 
arose,  purposely  rustling  her  dress  in  the  movement,  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  others.  In  this,  however,  she  was  not  suc 
cessful  ;  and  finding  that  her  companions  still  remained  upon 
their  knees,  she  quietly  returned  to  the  back  room,  seated  her 
self  on  a  chair  near  the  window,  and  amused  herself  by  contem 
plating  the  stars. 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  petitioners  were  disturbed  by  a  low  sigh 
from  the  lips  of  the  object  of  their  supplications.  They  rose  up 
and  bent  over  her.  Her  eyes  were  open,  and  dazzling  with  a 
light  which  made  those  near  her  shudder. 

"  Do  you  know  us1?"  said  Samuel. 

"  My  child !"  returned  the  woman,  faintly. 

"  It  is  here  beside  you,"  said  Mrs.  Farley. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  murmured  the  dying  woman. 

The  laundress  held  it  up  before  her.  The  wretched  woman 
gazed  at  its  slumbering  face  a  few  moments,  in  silence,  and  then 
said,  in  a  whispering  voice,  which  was  replete  with  agony — 

"  Bring  her  near  me.     I  am  going !" 

The  unconscious  child  was  brought  close  to  her,  and  its  little 
brow  received  its  mother's  last  kiss. 

"  Lay  her  down  again,"  said  the  dying  woman,  with  a  sigh, 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          217 

Her  wish  was  complied  with,  and  then  her  eyes  wandered  from 
one  to  another  of  the  group,  till  they  fell  on  Samuel. 

"You  would  have  saved  me,"  she  said,  feebly,  and  with  diffi 
culty,  "  and  I  thank  you.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  I  had  no  hope, 
no  confidence,  no  faith.  The  world  had  crushed  out  all  my 
faith  long  before.  And  now  I  am  going,"  she  added,  with  a 
painful  smile,  "  to  my  reward  !  Nay — don't  speak.  Every  mo 
ment  is  precious.  My  child — " 

"  I  understand  you,  dear  madam,"  said  Samuel.  "  I  will  take 
care  of  her,  and  bring  her  up  in  the  ways  of  the  Lord  !" 

"  See  to  that!"  said  the  woman,  with  expiring  energy  ;  "  see  to 
that !  All  else  is  as  nothing.  You  will  ?" 

And  she  bent  her  dying  gaze  upon  him,  imploringly. 

"  I  will,"  said  Samuel. 

The  woman's  eye  shone  with  gratitude. 

"  Thank  you — God  bless  you  !"  she  murmured,  with  a  last  ef 
fort.  "  Your  hand  upon  it !"  She  tried  to  press  it  to  her  lips,  but 
failed.  Her  frame  was  exhausted.  The  vital  spark  was  strug 
gling  to  escape.  "  Hold  me — hold  me  !"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
which  was  reduced  to  a  faint  whisper.  "  I — 1  am — going.  Per 
dition — I  see  it !  Save  me — save  me !  All — is — dark ness !" 

The  lamp  was  out — the  light  was  gone. 

The  victim  of  society's  mummeries,  of  society's  frivolities,  and 
of  society's  skeleton  religion,  was — WHERE  ? 


10 


CHAPTER   XV. 

No  time  was  lost  in  notifying  the  relatives  of  the  departed  of 
the  sad  event.  They  responded  by  sending  an  undertaker  to 
take  charge  of  the  remains.  A  costly  coffin  was  brought,  and 
the  funeral  appointed  to  take  place  at  one  o'clock.  At  that 
hour,  Samuel,  Mrs.  Townsend,  Miriam,  and  Mrs.  Farley  alone 
were  present. 

Samuel  was  surprised. 

"  Have  none  of  the  poor  lady's  friends  been  here  ?"  he  in 
quired  of  the  laundress. 

The  latter  replied  in  the  negative. 

Samuel  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  it. 

Miriam  was  grave. 

Mrs.  Townsend  indignant,  but  silent.  She  understood  the 
world. 

Steps  were  heard  ascending  the  stairs. 

"  Ah  !  here  they  are  at  last !"  observed  the  young  Christian, 
with  his  usual  simplicity. 

The  door  opened,  and  three  men  appeared.  They  were  the 
undertaker  and  his  assistants !  % 

Samuel  looked  grieved. 

"I  am  just  in  time,"  said  the  undertaker,  taking  out  his  watch. 
"  Screw  down  the  lid,"  he  added,  addressing  his  assistants. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  wait  a  little,"  interrupted  Samuel. 
"  The  lady's  relatives—" 

"  Will  meet  the  hearse  at  the  corner  !"  said  the  undertaker, 
with  a  supercilious  smile,  which  had  a  world  of  meaning  in  it. 

Samuel  blushed  to  his  very  temples. 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.          219 

Five  minutes  later,  the  coffin  was  in  the  hearse,  behind  which 
stood  a  solitary  carriage — Mrs.  Townsend's. 

Mrs.  Farley  remained  at  home,  to  attend  to  little  Bob  and 
the  tender  orphan,  who  could  not  comprehend  why  "  mamma 
was  so  white  and  still,  why  they  put  her  in  the  mahogany  box 
with  the  silver  nails,  nor  what  they  meant  by  carrying  her  away." 

Mrs.  Townsend  entered  her  carriage,  followed  by  Miriam  and 
Samuel.  The  latter  was  pale.  His  companions  observed  him. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Samuel  T  asked  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  Of  the  littleness  of  that  pride  which  declines  to  draw  up  its 
livery  before  an  alley,  and  awaits  the  corse  of  a  sister  at  the 
corner  !"  said  Samuel.  "  Tell  me,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
inquirer,  "  of  what  avail  is  the  preaching  which  brings  forth  such 
fruits  ?" 

"  The  fault  is  not  in  the  preaching,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  but 
in  the  people,  who  hear,  but  do  not  heed." 

"  But  if  the  preacher  did  his  duty  like  one  who  felt  the  re 
sponsibility  of  his  position — " 

"  He  would  very  soon  lose  his  position  !"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Townsend,  impatiently.  "  Come,  come,  Samuel,  you  must  get 
rid  of  these  notions,  and  learn  to  take  the  world  as  you  find  it  I" 

The  young  Christian  regarded  her  for  an  instant  or  two  with 
painful  surprise.  Then  bowing  his  head,  as  if  in  astonishment 
at  the  rebuke,  he  bent  his  eyes  thoughtfully  upon  the  floor  of 
the  carriage. 

Mrs.  Townsend  bit  her  lip.  She  felt  mortified,  not  at  her 
remark,  but  at  herself,  for  making  it  to  one  whom  she  so  highly 
esteemed. 

The  embarrassing  silence  which  followed  was  happily  brought 
to  an  end  by  the  temporary  stoppage  of  their  vehicle,  which 
had  now  reached  the  corner.  Mrs.  Townsend  took  advan 
tage  of  the  incident  to  re-establish  herself  in  the  young  man's 
confidence. 


220         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Samuel,"  she  said,  in  a  genial  tone,  which  no  one  knew  bet 
ter  than  herself  how  to  employ,  "  do  look  out  and  see  what  the 
matter  is — there's  a  good  soul !" 

The  young  man  cheerfully  complied. 

"  Three  carriages  are  moving  up  between  us  and  the  hearse," 
he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  examination. 

"  The  friends  of  Mrs.  Jones — her  afflicted  sisters !"  remarked 
Mrs.  Townsend,  with  a  smile  of  deep  significance.  "  Their  rela 
tions  to  the  deceased  entitle  them  to  precedence  !" 

She  moved  a  little  on  her  seat,  to  observe  the  vehicles  ;  as 
she  did  so,  she  caught  a  view  of  Mrs.  De  Witt,  who  was  sitting 
in\  the  front  carriage.  The  latter  held  a  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  and  was  in  deep  mourning. 

Mrs.  Townsend  smiled,  in  her  peculiar  way,  and  leaned  back 
to  avoid  recognition. 

A  moment  later,  her  own  conveyance  was  following  in  the 
train. 

An  hour  and  a  half  brought  the  party  to  Three  Hundred  and 
Sixty  Acres  of  Human  Vanity — Greenwood.  The  tower-bell 
tolled  solemnly  as  the  body  entered  the  gate,  as  if  to  welcome 
the  lost  worldling  to  that  magnificent  inclosure  of  worms,  flow 
ers,  riding-paths,  and — artistical  effects. 

They  passed  along  the  main  avenue  and  turned  into  a  winding 
path  leading  to  a  knoll  which  overlooked  the  cemetery  and  the 
bay.  On  the  brow  of  this  knoll  rose  the  facade  of  a  gorgeous 
tomb,  resembling  in  its  exterior  an  Ionic  temple.  The  door 
stood  open,  as  the  hearse  drew  up — the  vault  was  awaiting  its  first 
tenant.  Over  the  entrance,  fancifully  sculptured,  appeared  the 
name  of  the  owner  of  this  show-house  of  the  dead — THEODORE 
AUGUSTUS  JONES — Fraudulent  Bankrupt  might  have  been  added 
with  marked  propriety,  but  it  was  only  impressed  upon  the 
minds  of  those  who  followed  his  consort's  corse. 

The  interior  of  the  vault,  which  was  of  an  oblong  shape,  was 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          221 

built  of  dry,  solid,  compact  masonry.  The  sides  and  lower  end 
were  lined  with  firm  stone  shelves,  with  air-tight  lids,  for  the 
reception  of  the  dead. 

The  remains  of  the  first  tenant  were  placed  upon  the  lower 
shelf,  by  the  cemetery's  attendants,  in  a  business-like  way  ;  the 
relatives  looked  on  in  a  business-like  way ;  they  walked  out  in 
a  business-like  way  ;  the  vault  was  closed  in  a  business-like  way, 
and  all  was  over. 

Having  attended  to  the  last  rites  of  the  dear  departed,  the 
relatives  now  gave  themselves  up  for  a  few  moments  to  enjoy 
ment. 

Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Miss  De  Witt  examined  the  Ionic  temple  with 
mixed  feelings  of  complacency  and  satisfaction. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  flung  their  eyes  over  the  cemetery  gen 
erally,  and  appeared  to  survey  its  numerous  mazy,  intersecting 
paths,  its  countless  hillocks,  its  sylvan  slopes,  its  tiny  glens,  its 
gentle  declivities,  its  abrupt  knolls,  and  its  artificial  valleys,  vari 
ously  dotted  with  horizontal  slabs,  marble  shafts,  granite  obelisks, 
and  other  fanciful  monuments,  with  mingled  curiosity  and  delight. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith — the  latter  the  third  sister  of  the  dear 
departed — and  their  two  daughters  amused  themselves  by  exam 
ining  the  numerous  monumental  beauties  around  them.  This, 
they  found  "  very  pretty  ;"  that,  "  so  very  romantic ;"  a  third,  "  a 
perfect  love ;"  a  fourth,  "  really  exquisite ;"  a  fifth,  "  so  very 
simple,"  which  was  very  true ;  a  sixth,  "  so  like  a  doll ;"  a  seventh, 
"very  touching;"  an  eighth,*"  perfectly  beautiful;"  a  ninth,  "a 
real  gem  ;"  and  a  tenth,  "  bewilderingly  magnificent." 

The  Smiths  were  in  their  element.  Everything  around  them 
spoke  of  money,  taste,  talent,  extravagance,  and  absurdity.  The 
Smiths  enjoyed  themselves.  Their  senses  were  appealed  to. 
Each  object  said  to  them,  "  Look  at  me — I'm  a  curiosity  !"  and 
the  Smiths  looked  ;  their  eyes  were  fed.  The  desired  chord 
was  touched,  and  the  Smiths  were  all  admiration. 


222          WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

All  of  these  parties  were  immediately  allied,  by  blood  or 
marriage,  to  the  inmate  of  the  vault,  and  had  therefore  a  perfect 
right  to  be  considered  in  affliction. 

"Samuel,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  this  is  hardly  an  occasion 
for  adding  to  our  worldly  knowledge,  but  if  you  have  any  dispo 
sition  to  learn  how  refined  '  blood'  may  become,  how  capable  it 
is  of  ascending  above  human  weakness,  allow  me  to  take  you  to 
the  exhibition." 

"  What  exhibition,  madam  T 

"  The  exhibition  of  nonsense.    Keep  Mr.  Leland's  arm,  Mirry." 

And  she  led  the  way  to  a  fine  showy  vault  on  the  left  of  the 
Ionic  temple,  which  was  sufficiently  attractive  and  imposing  to 
serve  as  a  pretext  for  the  object  with  which  they  approached  it. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  in  a  low  voice,  "  listen,  and  be 
edified.  Nay,  don't  regard  it  as  either  vulgar  or  impertinent, 
but  as  a  lesson  in  the  great  drama  of  worldly  humbug.  Look 
at  this,"  she  added,  touching  the  vault,  "  and  listen  to  them  /" 

Samuel  complied,  though  not  without  a  feeling  of  shame. 

"A  very  pretty  design !"  observed  Mrs.  De  Witt,  surveying 
the  Ionic  temple.  "  It  reflects  credit  upon  the  taste  of  Mr.  Jones. 
Pity  he  isn't  inside  of  it !  And  then  the  situation — how  very 
elegant !  It  commands  such  a  magnificent  view,  and  can,  be  SEEN 
from,  every  direction." 

"  It  cost  five  thousand  dollars,"  said  Mr.  De  Witt,  who,  being 
a  stock-broker,  was  a  gentleman  of  large  practical  ideas.  "Almost 
as  much  as  mine — " 

"Ows,  you  mean!"  suggested  his  lady,  significantly. 

"Ye — yes;  you  are  quite  correct.  Almost  as  much  as  ours, 
the  bill  of  which,  if  I  remember  right,  was  in  the  neighborhood 
of  six  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty." 

This  was  said  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  knew  what  was  what, 
and  could  afford  to  lay  down  the  cash  for  it,  too. 

"Do  you  know,  my  dear,"  inquire!  his  lady,  "whether  Mr, 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          223 

Jones  ever  paid  for  the  whole  of  it  ?  If  he  did,  it  was  a  wonder. 
It  was  a  habit  of  his,  I  think,  to  leave  a  small  unsettled  balance 
at  the  foot  of  every  bill  !" 

"As  you  say,"  replied  the  stock-broker,  "Mr.  Jones  had  a 
weakness  that  way.  And  that  reminds  me — " 

"That  he  owes  you  a  small  balanced"  interrupted  his  amiable 
spouse,  sharply  "Wretch!  And  you  knew  him,  too.  I'm 
ashamed  of  you,  sir — perfectly  ashamed.  O,  if  I  had  only  been 
blessed  with  a  MAN  for  a  husband !" 

"But,  my  dear—" 

"  Silence,  sir  !     Remember  where  you  are  !" 

The  crest-fallen  stock-broker  was  silent. 

A  few  passers-by  approached  at  this  moment,  and  Mrs.  De 
Witt  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  to  veil  her  sorrow. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  were,  meanwhile,  getting  on  as  well  as 
could  be  expected.  Mrs.  Jenkins  being  a  sister  to  the  new  ten 
ant  of  the  Ionic  temple,  was,  of  course,  fully  entitled  to  a  liberal 
indulgence  in  Greenwood  affliction. 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  delightful  situation  !"  exclaimed  the  grief- 
stricken  lady.  "  It " — the  Ionic  temple — "commands  such  a  mag 
nificent  view  !  .  Why,  one  can  see  everything  from  here.  Really, 
Mr.  Jenkins,  we  must  have  one  like  it !" 

From  her  words  and  manner,  it  would  appear  that  the  speaker 
anticipated  a  great  deal  of  enjoyment  in  the  way  of  magnificent 
views,  when  she  should,  in  her  turn,  take  up  her  residence  in 
Three  Hundred  and  Sixty  Acres  of  Human  Vanity.  This  was 
perhaps  the  reason  why  she  manifested  so  strong  a  desire  for  a 
fine  showy  abode  and  a  delightful  situation. 

"  We'll  think  of  it,  my  dear,"  observed  the  prudent  Mr. 
Jenkins. 

"  How  can  you  make  such  a  reply  to  me,  Mr.  Jenkins  ?"  de 
manded  his  better  half,  "  when  you  know  very  well,  sir,  that  1 
know  that  you  only  employ  it  as  a  subterfuge  to  get  rid  of  un- 


224          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

pleasant   subjects,  and    that   you   never   mean    to   think   of  it 
again  ]" 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear,"  said  Air.  Jenkins,  "  it  escaped  me 
unawares.  I — I — have  no  intention  of  evading  your  wishes  in 
any  particular,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  presume  not,  sir  !"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  significantly. 

"  You  may  rely  upon  it,  my  dear.  But  do  you  know  that 
vaults  of  this  description  are  somewhat  expensive  ?" 

"  And  what  is  that  to  me,  Mr.  Jenkins  V 

•"  Very  true,  my  dear — very  true  !"  said  her  lesser  half,  in  a 
tone  which  implied  that  it  was  something  to  him,  and  something 
very  serious,  too.  Then,  as  if  anxious  to  completely  reinstate 
himself  in  his  lady's  good  graces,  he  added,  "  As  you  say,  my 
dear,  the  situation  of  Mr.  Jones's  vault  is  very  fine,  and  the 
vault  itself  quite  imposing.  If  you  think  we  had  better  have 
one  like  it,  I'll  give  it  my  attention.'1 

'  *'  No,  sir,  not  like  it,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  "  that  would  be  too 
akin  to  imitation.  Something  in  a  different  style,  but  equally  as 
grand  and  impressive.  Something — something — new,  original, 
and  elegant.  Something  worthy  of  a  JENKINS,  sir !" 

"  I — I  understand  you,  my  dear.     I'll  think  of  it — " 

"  Sir !" 

"  That  is,  I  mean,  I'll  think  it  over,  and  see  what  sort  of  a 
design  it  shall  be  !" 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Jenkins,"  said  his  better  half,  severely,  "  that 
that  is  the  business  of  an  architect,  or  persons  of  that  sort !" 

"  Very  true,  my  dear — very  true,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  surren 
dering.  "  I'll  see  one,  and  give  him  an  order  for  a  design.'' 

"Immediately,  Mr.  Jenkins?" 

"  Immediately,  my  dear.     Within  a  week." 

"  Very  good,  Mr.  Jenkins.  Then  we'll  take  Friday  for  look 
ing  up  the  proper  situation." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  in  a  tone  which  evinced  a 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          225 

solemn  consciousness  that  he  was  in  for  it  beyond  redemp 
tion. 

"  Greenwood,"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  with  the  tender  air  of  one 
who,  having  conquered,  could  afford  to  be  magnanimous,  "  is  so 
delightful  a  spot  in  which  to  take  the  Long  Repose!  Ah  !  Mr. 
Jenkins,  when,  after  life's  journey  is  ended,  we  come  and  He 
together  here — free  from  the  cares,  the  sorrows,  and  the  din  of 
time  ;  our  long  home  perched  upon  some  charming  hill,  like  this ; 
around  us  brilliant  vaults,  showy,  inviting,  and  imposing  as  our 
own ;  the  tower-bell  tolling,  every  hour,  its  subduing  requiem ; 
the  green  knolls,  and  slopes,  and  acclivities  glittering  in  the  morn 
ing  with  their  silver  dew,  waving  gently  to  and  fro  beneath  the 
zephyrs,  through  the  day,  and  joining  the  silent  shades  and  the 
pale  monuments  in  the  hush  of  the  calm,  starry  night ;  the  quiet 
broken  only  by  the  low,  soothing  murmurs  of  the  bay,  as  its 
blue  waters,  gilded  by  the  moon,  roll,  with  playful  violence,  upon 
the  dark,  sullen  shore: — what  can  be  more  delightful,  Mr. 
Jenkins  T 

"  Nothing,  my  dear — nothing  !"  returned  that  gentleman,  with 
a  glance  of  admiration  at  the  lady  who  was  doing  him  so  ami 
ably. 

Mrs.  Townsend,  who  could  scarcely  restrain  an  explosion  of 
laughter,  now  pressed  Samuel's  arm,  and  the  trio  moved  away 
from  the  spot,  followed  slowly  by  their  carriage. 

"  Well,  Samuel,  what  do  you  think  of  the  exhibition  ]"  asked 
the  lady,  archly. 

"That  there  is  no  foe  so  deadly  to  the  human  heart  as  that 
gilded  thing,  the  world !"  returned  the  young  man,  promptly. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  shaking  her  finger  in  playful  re 
buke,  "on  your  old  strain  again.  Why  rail  out  so  incessantly 
against  the  world  f 

"  Because  it  is  rushing  pell-mell  to  insanity,  madam,  and  be 
cause  every  true  man  should  do  something  for  its  rescue." 

10* 


226  ^         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Insanity  T' 

"  Insanity,  madam  !  Look  at  what  it  has  done  for  Mrs.  Jones ; 
see  what  it  is  doing  for  those  whom  we  left  but  now." 

"  You  do  not  regard  the  De  Witts  and  the  Jenkinses  as  in- 
ea»e,  surely ¥' 

"  Are  they  any  wiser  than  her  whom  they  escorted  to  her  last 
earthly  resting-place  to-day  ?  Are  not  their  thoughts  gross, 
petty,  ludicrous,  ignoble  1  Fell  a  single  sentiment  from  their  lips 
worthy  the  attention  of  an  earnest  or  intelligent  mind  ?" 

"  I  confess  it." 

"  And  yet  their  utterances  had  in  them,  as  they  thought,  much 
of  life's  daily  wisdom  !  While  they  spoke,  their  intellects  were 
in  full  play — what  they  spoke,  were  the  fruits  of  their  intellectual 
culture.  Could  Bedlam  produce  mental  results  less  worthy  V 

"  I  admit  it." 

"  And  yet,  not  theirs  alone  the  blame.  The  world  has  led 
their  poor,  frivolous  minds  to  this  ignoble  pass.  The  world, 
which  employs  all  its  enginery  to  drive  out,  from  everywhere, 
every  vestige  of  aught  which  has  a  tendency  to  inspire  the  human 
heart  with  a  single  solemn  thought.  The  world,  which,  with  the 
tenacious  malignity  of  a  demon,  haunts  man  at  every  step,  from 
the  cradle  to  the  shroud,  and  so  bewilders  him  with  novelties  and 
vanities,  that  he  cannot  find  a  single  earnest  moment  in  which 
to  talk  to  God ;  which  so  engrosses  him  with  earth,  that  he  has 
no  room  for  thoughts  of  heaven  ;  so  possesses  him  with  cares  for 
his  brief  dream  here,  that  he  has  no  time  to  prepare  for  the  long 
reality  of  eternity  !" 

"Have  you,  then,  no  regard  for  art,  for  genius — taste 7"  asked 
Mrs.  Townsend.  ^ 

"The  highest — in  their  places!  They  adorn  and  beautify  the 
world — with  the  world  let  them  stay.  But  bring  them  not 
between  me  and  life's  One  Purpose — between  me  and  the 
Solemn — between  me  and  God." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.          *227 

"But  they  appear  to  me  appropriate  in  all  public  places. 
What  more  touching  and  impressive,  for  instance,  than  this  ?" 

And  she  pointed  to  a  sculptured  monument  of  a  mother  weep 
ing  for  her  child. 

"  Very  touching  and  impressive  it  would  be  anywhere  but 
here!  In  a  hall  set  apart  for  statuary,  it  would  be  eloquent  with 
beauty  and  with  thought.  Here  its  beauty,  force,  and  sugges- 
tiveness,  are  lost !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  regarded  him  with  amazement. 

"  Because,"  said  Samuel,  "  the  Real  is  more  significant  and  im 
pressive  than  the  Ideal ;  because  it  is  placed  here,  not  to  illus 
trate  a  beautiful  thought,  but  to  be  seen  •  because  it  is  not  here  a 
picture  of  a  touching  conception,  but  a  flaunting  sign  of  desire, 
on  the  part  of  her  who  erected  it,  to  be  considered  tender,  gentle, 
and  interestingly  melancholy. 

"  Observe  the  words — 

" '  MARY,  ONLY  CHILD  OF  MRS.  EDITH  WARREN — AGED  FOUR 
YEARS.  My  child,  thy  widowed  mother  mourns  for  thee? 

"  What  more  significant — a  widow,  with  a  tender  heart,  pines 
in  singleness,  and  yearns  to  be  comforted!  Making  even  of  the 
grave  of  her  little  one  a  medium  through  which  to  communi 
cate  her  marketableness  to  the  public !  Does  genuine  affection 
expose  its  sorrows  to  a  gaping  world  *?  Grief  is  solemn,  grief  is 
sacred ;  it  is  for  privacy,  not  show :  it  unveils  itself,  in  silence, 
and  to  HIM,  alone  ! 

"  But  would  you  see  real  eloquence  1     Look  there !" 

And  he  pointed  to  a  row  of  five  green  graves,  without  mark 
or  stone. 

"  There  is  death,  in  all  its  solemn  sternness,  all  its  impressive 
silence,  all  its  shrinking  modesty ;  with  no  intervening  thing  to 
intercept  its  stirring  suggestiveness,  or  its  eloquent  lesson.  Com 
pare  its  touching  homily  with  that  of  the  young  widow  who 
flaunts  her  sorrows  in  your  face,  and  bids  you  think  of  her,  and 


228          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

not  of  the  wholesome  moral  lesson  which  is  taught  by  the 
mouldering  forms  that  lie  beneath  the  sod ! 

"It  is  well  for  the  heart  that  dwells  amid  the  temptations 
of  the  world,  to  look,  now  and  then,  upon  the  silent  habitations 
of  the  dead.  It  weans  him  from  the  concentration  of  his  mind 
upon  perishable  things ;  it  reminds  him  whither  he  is  hastening, 
and  bids  him  think  of  it ;  warning  him,  in  the  same  moment, 
that  he,  too,  shall,  ere  long,  make  another  of  the  grave-yard  host 
who  are  dissolving  into  nothingness,  and  returning  to  their 
original  dust. 

"  But  gorgeous  Greenwood  tells  us  nothing  of  all  this.  Green 
wood — to  which  society  brings  its  dead,  not  for  burial,  but  for 
show.  Greenwood — which  feeds  the  eye,  which  ministers  to 
pride,  but  not  to  the  soul.  Greenwood — which  takes  away  our 
homage  from  God,  turns  it  insensibly  into  simple  curiosity,  and 
imbues  us  with  an  untimely  respect  for  art,  and  taste,  and  wealth, 
and  pomp,  and  pride. 

"  Gorgeous  Greenwood  teaches  us  that  which  the  cemetery 
should  never  teach — respect  for  human  vanity.  These  bewilder 
ing  paths,  these  artificial  dells,  these  pretty  glens,  these  gentle 
slopes,  these  charming  acclivities,  these  sylvan  mounts,  and  shades, 
and  lakes,  with  all  their  royal  garniture  of  granite,  iron,  stone, 
and  marble,  cut  into  a  thousand  forms,  beginning  with  the  simple, 
continuing  with  the  noble,  the  lovely,  the  sublime,  and  terminat 
ing  with  the  grotesque — step  in  between  us  and  the  solemn,  turn 
our  thoughts  from  the  immortal  to  the  mortal,  inspire  us  with 
conceptions  not  of  human  impotence,  but  of  human  grandeur? 
lead  us  from  the  contemplation  of  the  Great  Beyond  to  that  of 
the  decaying  Present,  and  point  us,  as  it  were,  back  to  the  world 
that  we  have  temporarily  left,  as  the  great  aim  and  eternal 
abiding-place  of  man ! 

"  I  find  no  fault  with  Art.  It  is  good.  It  has  its  uses,  its 
meanings,  and  its  hallowing  influences.  But  let  it  remain  in  its 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          229 

place.  Let  it  not  step  in  between  me  and  the  Solemn.  Keep 
it  in  its  place.  We  can  appreciate  it  there  !  But  keep  it  away 
from  the  habitations  of  the  dead.  Let  it  not  deprive  the  grave 
of  its  high  and  stirring  moral*!" 

"  Lo  !  in  the  world,  what  is  the  one  lesson  taught  to  all  who  will 
lend  an  ear  1  PRIDE.  What  the  sermon  preached  at  church 
before  the  pastor  has  said  a  single  word  ]  Pride — pomp,  glitter, 
fashion  !  What  the  incentive  in  man  to  climb  to  riches  by  false 
hood,  knavery,  and  craft  ?  Pride.  Pride — which  drives  from  him, 
step  by  step,  all  the  solemn,  all  the  nobler  qualities,  retaining 
only  the  baser.  Is  this  wise,  is  it  generous,  is  it  noble?  Owe  we 
not  something  to  the  better  part  of  us — should  we  pay  eternal 
tribute  only  to  the  viler  1 

"  But  as  the  world  while  in  the  world,  is  not  enough.  We 
must  still  be  showy,  still  vaunt  our  folly  and  our  weakness,  when 
no  longer  of  it.  We  must  perforce  exhibit  it  in  the  GRAVE  ! 

"  Look  around — at  this  myriad  of  wild  fantastic  monuments 
and- vaults,  each  struggling  madly  with  the  other  for  precedence 
in — what  1 

"  The  eyes  of  the  few  gay  idlers  who  come  here  to  toy  away 
an  hour ! 

"  Of  what  do  they  tell  us  ?  Of  the  wholesome  moral  lesson 
of  the  slumbering  dead  ? 

"No. 

"  But  of  the  frivolousness,  the  mental  imbecility,  and  the  over 
powering  pride  of  the  ye t  living  \ 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  we  parade  our  brazen  egotism  before 
the  world — must  we  make  a  show  of  it  even  in  the  tomb  ? 

"  What !  plant  in  the  skeleton  hands  of  our  dead  a  flaunting 
banner  of  out*  own  shame  ! 

"And  yet  for  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  man  has 
heard  the  Christian  precept  of  Humility  ! 

"  And  yet  they  who  thus  invite  the  eye  of  the  moralist  to  their 


230          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

effrontery,  walk,  doubtless,  every  Sabbath,  up  to  the  House  of 
God,  and  listen  with  complacency  to  the  Word  which  teaches  us 
meekness — not  arrogance ;  modesty — not  brazenness  ;  earnest 
ness — not  frivolity ! 

"  Lo !  here,  as  in  the  world,  bloated  Wealth  and  insolent  Pride 
mock  Poverty  and  Meekness.  The  Ionic  temple  looks  down 
with  haughty  eye  upon  the  humble  grave  whose  green  sod  is  its 
only  ornament.  The  marble  obelisk  lifts  its  proud  head  in 
solemn  mockery  beside  the  plain,  unassuming  slab,  which,  per 
chance,  covers  a  better  and  nobler  heart.  While  the  pretentious, 
cloud-piercing  shaft,  with  its  broad  base  and  brazen  cap,  stands 
memorial  of  one  who,  most  like,  with  all  his  riches,  never 
dropped  a  tear-  to  misery,  nor  gave  a  shilling  to  rescue  a  brother 
from  hunger  or  distress ! 

"  The  aristocracy  of  the  world  1 — Revolting !  But  the  aristoc 
racy  of  the  grave  ?  Humiliating ! 

"  Lo,  around  us  millions  of  dollars,  in  fancy  monuments !  and 
vaults,  and  dells,  and  glens,  and  shades,  and  paths,  and  mounts, 
and  lakes,  and  effects — all  appealing  to  the  eye,  filling  the  mind 
with  wonderment,  curiosity,  and  admiration ;  depriving  death  of 
its  solemnity  ;  surrounding  it  with  a  mingled  air  of  romance  and 
business,  converting  it  into  a  matter  of  little  or  no  moment,  and 
making  the  place  of  the  sepulchre  a  place  of  resort  for  the  saun 
tering  idler  to  smoke  his  cigar,  the  rider  to  try  the  bottom  of  his 
horse,  the  lover  to  whisper  fond  words  to  his  mistress,  the 
stranger  to  gratify  his  curiosity,  the  amateur  to  take  sketches, 
the  world  to  look  at  its  monumental  curosities  and  delightful 
situations,  and  the  moralist  to  mourn  over  the  littleness  of  Pride 
and  its  sickening  display. 

"  Lo  !  the  time  when  an  humble  grave-yard — guileless  of  mazy 
paths,  and  romantic  shades,  and  sylvan  dells,  and  gorgeous  vaults, 
and  flaring  monuments — subdued  the  heart  to  awe,  and  inspired 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          231 

it,  when  looking  upon  tha  modest  habitations  of  the  dead,  to 
commune,  in  holy  reverence,  with  God  ! 

"Then  pride  was  content  to  display  its  tinsel,  its  presumption, 
and  its  shame,  in  the  world's  domain,  alone.  Death's  dominions 
were  sacred,  ever,  to  the  impious  and  profane ;  whoso  ap 
proached  its  precincts  bowed  in  pious  lowliness  to  its  hallowing 
and  impressive  lesson. 

"  Then,  as  pride  looked  on  the  green,  half-sunken  grave,  and 
listened  to  the  eloquence  of  its  silent  teachings,  it  lost  all  mem 
ory  of  its  gilt,  its  rouge,  its  dollars,  its  vanity,  and  its  arrogance, 
and  imbibed  hohest  thoughts  and  stirring  memories  of  good 
things  forgotten  long  ago  !" 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

IN  the  evening,  Samuel  called  again  upon  the  laundress,  with 
whom  he  concluded  a  temporary  arrangement  for  the  support  of 
his  eleve,  the  little  orphan. 

This  done,  he  returned  home,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  his  parents. 
He  described,  clearly  and  minutely,  the  circumstances  which  had 
eventuated  in  constituting  him  the  child's  protector ;  expressed 
his  appreciation  of  the  responsibility  of  his  trust ;  and  tenderly 
solicited  for  her,  at  his  own  expense,  a  place  in  the  affections  and 
tranquillity  of  the  parsonage,  where  she  would  be  surrounded  by 
a  pure  moral  atmosphere,  until  he  should  himself  be  in  a  posi 
tion  to  take  her  under  his  own  immediate  care  and  supervision. 

In  a  few  days,  Samuel  received,  as  he  expected,  a  warm, 


232          WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

affectionate,  and  favorable  reply  ;  and  in  forty-eight  hours  after 
its  receipt,  the  little  orphan  was  taking  tea  at  the  parsonage. 

"  The  dear  creeter !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Betsy,  after  the  little 
ones  had  been  put  to  rest  for  the  night.  "  She  will  make  a  nice 
sister  for  dear  little  Joe.  We  must  be  good  to  her,  for  Samuel's 
sake !"  t 

"  And  for  her  own,"  said  Mrs.  Leland.     "  She  is  an  orphan." 

"  And  for  His !"  said  the  pastor,  reverently. 

Three  excellent  reasons,  which  soon  had  their  effect  upon  little 
Ada,  who  learned,  ere  long,  to  forget  everything  but  the  happy 
family  of  which  she  was  now  a  member. 

Little  Joe  welcomed  her  with  a  burst  of  rejoicing  from  his 
pipe ;  and  for  a  week,  his  solitary  tune  went  off  into  all  sorts  of 
variations,  invariably  returning  to  the  starting-point,  and  then 
gliding  off  into  the  old  tune  itself,  and  from  that  into  another 
variation,  and  from  that  back  again,  till  the  old  tune  had  taken 
journeys  enough  to  fairly  entitle  it  to  the  reputation  of  a  fine  old 
traveller  that  had  seen  all  the  world,  and  more  too,  and  was  now 
going  to  sit  down,  take  it  easy,  and  rest  upon  its  laurels,  re 
spectably,  like  a  gentleman. 

The  De  Witts,  the  Smiths,  and  the  Jenkinses  were  by  no 
means  grieved  to  learn  that  their  orphan  niece,  "  the  little  Jones," 
had  found  a  protector,  who  would  take  upon  himself  the  respon 
sibility  of  her  education  and  support.  Their  only  feeling  in  the 
matter  was,  that  that  protector  was  simply,  as  Mrs.  De  Witt  ex 
pressed  it,  "  a  poor  dry  goods  clerk,  whose  prospects  were  no 
better  than  his  pocket,  and  who,  if  all  that  people  said  of  him 
was  true,  was  so  stupid  as  to  spend  his  earnings — which  were 
little  enough — upon  wretches  who  ought  to  be  either  in  the 
hospital  or  the  alms-house  !" 

In  his  private  affairs,  all  went  well  with  Samuel.  At  home, 
abroad,  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  rich,  or  the  homely  apart 
ments  of  the  poor,  he  was  alike  exerting  an  influence  for  good. 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          233 

In  his  business  matters,  he  was  advancing  calmly,  but  steadily. 
Naturally  clear-headed  and  methodical,  whatever  he  undertook 
to  do,  he  desired  to  do  understandingly  and  well.  Hence,  while 
his  progress  was  not  so  apparently  rapid  as  that  of  many  of  his 
fellow-clerks,  it  was,  in  reality,  greater,  because  it  was  thorough, 
while  that  of  the  others  was,  in  the  main,  simply  superficial. 
Thus,  when  removed  from  one  department  to  another,  he  was  a 
complete  master  of  the  one  which  he  had  left.  He  knew  all  its 
duties  and  all  its  articles,  in  all  their  details — understandingly. 
He  had  a  thorough  knowledge  of  all  the  nice  distinctions,  not 
only  in  each  variety  of  staple  and  fancy  goods,  but  also  of  each 
individual  article  in  that  variety.  He  could  tell,  at  a  glance,  the 
graduating  character  of  its  threads,  and  its  finish ;  the  relative 
depth,  strength,  and  durableness  of  its  color ;  the  comparison  it 
would  bear  to  other  fabrics  of  a  corresponding  character ;  the 
causes  of  its  strength  or  weakness,  of  its  superiority  or  inferior 
ity,  and  all  the  gradations  of  such  causes ;  of  the  gradations  in 
their  respective  merits,  of  the  various  varieties  of  staple  goods, 
their  prices,  and  the  peculiar  districts  where  each  was  most  in 
demand  ;  of  the  character  of  the  changes  which  were  constantly 
going  on  in  the  several  varieties,  and  the  peculiarities  of  those 
which  never  changed ;  of  the  comparative  value  of  absolutely 
old,  moderately  recent,  and  positively  new  goods  ;  of  the  vari 
ous  shades  in  colors,  and  the  gradations  in  those  shades  ;  of  the 
gradations  in  positively  genuine  and  only  imitation  fabrics,  as 
well  as  in  those  which  were  so  skilfully  wrought  as  to  partake 
of  either,  to  suit  the  necessity  of  the  dealer ;  of  their  asking 
prices,  and  the  abatements  which  they  would  suffer  and  still 
leave  profit ;  of  the  variations  and  distinctive  character  in 
thread,  color,  and  make,  between  foreign  and  native  goods ;  of 
the  comparative  standing,  popularity,  and  saleableness  of  each ; 
which  stood  and  sold  upon  their  own  merits,  and  which  required 
"pushing-,"  which  paid  the  most,  and  which  the  least,  profit; 


234          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

which  were  kept  as  baited  hooks  with  which  to  fish  for  "  other 
trade,"  and  which  "  thrown  in,"  to  show  the  liberality  of  the 
house ;  and  the  names,  localities,  and  comparative  honesty — 
positive,  medium,  or  negative — of  their  several  manufacturers, 
as  evidenced  in  the  distinctive  qualities  of  their  respective  goods. 
In  "  selling,"  Samuel  gave  at  first  but  little  promise.  For  a 
few  months,  he  was  rather  below  than  up  to  the  average  of  new 
clerks ;  and  it  was  sneeringly  remarked  that  he  would  never 
reach  the  dignity  nor  the  salary  of  a  "  crack"  salesman.  The 
reason,  according  to  Mr.  Brigham,  the  confidential  clerk,  who, 
for  some  cause  or  other,  did  not  regard  our  hero  with  a  favor 
able  eye,  was  plain  :  "  He  was  not  made  for  the  business."  The 
trouble  appeared  to  be  that  he  would  not  lie.  As  First  Broad 
cloth  expressed  it,  " he  was  too  honest — altogether"  He  had 
"  conscientious  scruples,"  which  would  not  permit  him  to  repre 
sent  an  article  a  hair's  breadth  above  its  merits,  for  the  sake  of 
"  working  it  off."  When  asked  by  a  dealer  if  a  certain  fabric 
was  "  imported,"  when  he  knew  that  it  was  only  imported  from 
one  of  the  four  States  of  Massachusetts,  Rhode  Island,  Connecti 
cut,  or  New  Jersey,  he  was  very  apt  to  tell  the  truth,  sale  or  no 
sale,  and  very  much  to  the  disgust  of  First  Broadcloth,  who 
"  could  not  understand  how  he  could  be  such  a  ninny."  When 
asked  if  such  and  such  articles  were  French  or  English,  when  he 
knew  that  they  were  neither,  but  simply  domestic  products,  he 
had  a  habit  of  telling  the  truth,  which  sometimes  choked  off  their 
sale,  but  did  not  choke  him.  When  requested  to  give  the  low 
est  net  prices  of  any  particular  kind  of  goods,  he  did  so  by  going 
down  to  the  lowest  mark  at  once, — a  proceeding  which  some 
times  resulted  in  a  sale,  and  sometimes  did  not,  but  one  which 
generally  won  the  confidence  of  the  dealer,  and  induced  him, 
when  he  called  again,  to  look  up  "  the  young  gentleman  who 
was  so  particular" — rather  choosing  to  buy  of  one  who  preferred 
the  truth  to  a  bill,  than  of  one  who  preferred  a  bill  to  the  truth. 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          235 

In  this  way,  Samuel  created  many  friends,  and  few  or  no  foes. 
City  and  country  dealers  who  made  a  purchase  of  him  once, 
favored  him,  most  generally,  with  a  second  trial  ;  and,  as  they 
invariably  found  that  his  statements  bore  the  tests  of  time  and 
examination,  in  every  particular,  they  "  stood  by  him"  in  trade. 
It  was  not,  therefore,  necessary  for  him  to  "  watch  the  arrivals" 
and  "  nab"  his  customers,  when  they  came  again  to  town.  They 
returned  to  him  of  their  own  accord,  in  spite  of  the  "  flattering 
inducements"  of  salesmen  of  other  houses,  who  "  laid  for  them" 
with  all  the  cunning  of  foxes,  and  "  hung  to  'em"  with  the  tena 
city  of  bloodhounds.  But  in  vain.  The  dealers  "  knew  their 
men"  and  their  man.  Samuel  was  "  safe" — who  bought  of  him 
once,  bought  of  him  twice ;  "  once  a  customer,  always  a  cus 
tomer." 

In  business  parlance,  all  this  "  told,"  in  time — slowly  it  may 
be,  but  steadily  ;  and  not  more  steadily  than  surely.  One  drop 
shows  but  little  in  a  bucket ;  but  a  regular  succession  of  drops 
fill  it  by-and-bye  to. the  brim.  Calmly,  then,  steadily,  then,  and 
without  noise,  ostentation,  or  parade,  Samuel  passed  tranquilly 
on ;  gaining  knowledge,  experience,  and  a  friend  or  two,  at  each 
step;  laying  a  broad,  substantial  foundation  for  future  opera 
tions  ;  and  manfully  maintaining  his  probity  and  his  spiritual 
trust,  bravely  and  faithfully,  on  the  way. 

His  fellow-clerks  were  somewhat  slow,  at  first,  to  comprehepd 
the  chances  of  his  success.  "  He  is  a  good  fellow,"  they  would 
say,  with  a  knowing  wink  ;  "but  not  made  for  the  dry  goods 
business.  He  is  pious,  amiable,  and  good-natured — a  first-rate 
fellow  in  heart  and  manner,  but  rather  tender  in  the  upper  story. 
Thinks  money  can  be  made  in  our  business  without  oil  (anglice, 
lying),  soft  soap,  and  gimleting  (anglice,  gouging).  Green,  sir 
— green  as  the  verdure  of  his  native  hills  !" 

But  somehow  or  other,  these  remarks,  which  were  very  com 
mon  for  a  year  or  so,  fell  gradually  into  disuse,  and  ceased,  by- 


236  WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

and-bye,  altogether.  In  fact,  it  was  noticed  that  Samuel  was 
not  so  very  unsuccessful,  after  all.  He  did  make  some  sales ; 
and  it  was  also  observed,  that  city  dealers  who  bought  of  him 
once,  came  again,  and  again,  and  always  bought  of  him — every 
time. 

The  clerks  pricked  up  their  ears. 

And  some  one  else — Charley  Gibbs — noticed,  tha^t  the  country 
dealers  within  short  distances  of  the  city,  who  made  a  bill  of 
Samuel  once,  did  precisely  like  the  city  dealers — they  called 
again,  and  again,  and  always  bought  of  him — Samuel.  And  as 
Charley  Gibbs  was  very  friendly  to  Samuel,  he  took  care  to  im 
part  the  result  of  his  observation  to  the  rest,  and — 

The  clerks  turned  their  eyes,  askant,  at  each  other. 

By-and-bye,  First  Broadcloth  made  the  interesting  discovery 
that  eighteen  New  York,  nine  New  Jersey,  seven  Pennsylva 
nia,  three  Vermont,  six  Canada,  twelve  Ohio,  eight  Missouri, 
eleven  Indiana,  three  Kentucky,  six  Illinois,  nine  Wisconsin,  four 
Iowa,  seven  Georgia,  and  four  South  Carolina  dealers  had  not 
only  repeated  their  calls  and  orders  on  Samuel,  but  had  also 
each  introduced  a  brother  dealer  to  him*  all  of  whom  bought,  and 
all  of  whom  promised  to  do  what  they  could  in  bringing  him 
other  customers.  He  (First  Broadcloth)  knew  it  to  be  so,  "be 
cause  he  had  seen,  heard,  and  counted  'em." 

The  clerks  looked  down — thoughtfully. 

And  then  they  began  to  think  that  perhaps  Samuel's  system 
was  not  so  very  stupid,  after  all.  They  didn't  know ;  but  they 
thought  so.  They  might  be  wrong  ;  there  was  no  saying  ;  but  of 
one  thing  they  were-  certain — their  customers  didn't  stick  by 
them  so  steadily,  nor  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  make  others 
for  them.  They  had  an  idea  that  they  could  say  that — safely. 

And  yet  they  didn't  know.  Samuel's  way  wasn't  the  regular 
way  of  doing  things.  They  had  been  in  the  business  a  good 
many  years,  and  they  had  never  done  it  in  that  fashion,  nor  seen 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  237 

others  do  it  in  that  way  either.  And  yet,  somehow,  it — WORKED. 
There  was  no  mistake  in  that.  It  did  APPEAR  to  work.  And 
Samuel  did  seem  to  get  along,  and  make  fair  bills,  too.  There 
was  that  bill  which  'he  made  up  yesterday  with  that  Ellicott- 
ville  fellow:  it  figured  up  over  a  thousand  dollars — the  second 
bill  which  Ellicottville  had  made  with  him.  And  yet  Samuel 
didn't  seem  to  think  much  of  it,  either  :  as  if  he  was  used  to  it. 

The  clerks  were  bothered. 

At  what,  they  didn't  exactly  know.  The  system  of  telling  the 
truth  did  work  ;  they  saw  that ;  anybody  could  see  it ;  and  yet 
they  couldn't  understand  it.  The  idea  of  "  doing  things  on  the 
square"  in — DRY  GOODS!  It  was  so  amusing.  Of  course  they 
always  pretended  to  u  do  things  up  fiyhtn  with  customers  ;  it  was 
expected  of  them  ;  but  then  not  exactly  in  Samuel's  way.  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  clerk  not  ';  putting  a  dealer  through"  in  the  right 
way — all  he  could  ?  How  could  he  make  anything,  if  he  didn't? 
Me^n  don't  do  business  for  nothing.  If  a  dealer  is  soft  enough  to 
let  a  man  "  stick"  him,  he  ought  to  be  stuck.  Every  clerk  will 
admit  that.  And  why  not?  What  are  dealers  made  for1? 
Besides,  how  is  a  fellow  to  live,  if  he  don't  use  a  little  oil  and 
gimlet  occasionally  ?  Where's  the  profit  going  to  come  from, 
if  you  don't  make  it?  And  how  can  you  make  it,  if  you  are 
squeamish  ?  Bah  !  It  can't  be  done.  Do  you  suppose  a  country 
buyer  would  pay  such  prices  for  Lowell  prints,  ifj-ou  didn't  make 
him  believe  that  they  had  come  all  the  way  from  France,  and 
that  you  were  three  weeks  in  getting  them  through  the  custom 
house  ?  No,  sir — he'd  make  you  knock  off  a  discount  that  would 
give  you  the  yellow  jaunders  for  a  week.  Bah  !  It's  all  hum 
bug.  Money  isn't  made  in  that  way ! 

And  yet  Samuel's  system  does  work ;  and  he  don't  use  oil, 
soft  soap,  or  gimlets. 

Ye — yes.  That's  it.  He  does  make  sales  and  cnstomers, 
too.  And  yet — well,  there's  no  saying  what  won't  turn  up  next ! 


238  WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

When  a  man  can  do  business  on  the  square  in  dry  goods,  then 
look  out  for  any  thing,  and  don't  be  surprised. 

But  Samuel — Samuel !  How  about  him  ?  He's  in  dry  goods 
— isn't  he  1  He  selJs,  and  on  the  square,  too — don't  he1? 

There  it  is !  But  how  does  he  do  it  ?  That's  the  question. 
/  couldn't  do  it — you  couldn't  do  it.  And  he  can.  There 
it  is! 

But  why  not  ?  It  is  simply  to  tell  the  truth  instead  of  a  lie 
— which  even  the  dealer  knows  to  be  a  lie.  That  is  common 
sense,  isn't  it  1  If  Samuel  can  make  trade  that  way,  why  can't 
we? 

There's  the  trouble.  Samuel  can  stick  to  the  truth,  because 
it's  natural  to  him.  Everybody  knows  that,  and  expects  it  of 
him.  But  we — we  are  not  accustomed  to  it — it  wouldn't 
answer. 

Why? 

A  pretty  question  !  How  would  it  sound  to  a  dealer,  to  tell 
him  that  our  French  shawls  are  not  imported  ;  that  they  are 
made  here  ?  What  would  he  say  ?  And  suppose  we  should  let 
him  know  that  our  French  de  laines,  which  we  have  been  sell 
ing  him  all  along  for  French,  came  all  the  way  from  Connecti 
cut,  what  would  he  say  to  that  ?  He  wouldn't  swear  any — oh, 
no  !  Nor  take  away  his  trade  altogether — oh  no,  not  at  all ! 
He'd  say  we  were  first-rate  fellows — perfect  trumps,  and  make 
tremendous  bills  of  us.  O  yes — certainly — over  the  left ! 

This  was  a  clincher.  The  clerks  couldn't  get  over  it,  and 
they  concluded  to  "  continue  in  the  good  old  way ;"  that  is,  to 
serve  their  country  friends  "  right" — wrong  ! 

In  the  meanwhile,  Samuel  went  on  in  his  way,  and  the  system 
worked  to  a  charm.  It  was  something  so  new  and  rare  to  dealers 
to  find  a  salesman  who  carried  his  Christianity  into  his  business, 
that  they  couldn't  help  speaking  of  it.  Men  will  talk  of  novel 
ties  !  Speaking  of  it  led  to  letters  of  introduction,  the  letters 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          239 

of  introduction  led  to  Samuel,  the  two  led  to  trade,  and  the 
trade  led  to  bills.  This  was  Mr.  Townsend's  method  of  reason 
ing  the  matter,  and  he  was  not  very  far  out  of  the  way,  in  his 
commercial  logic — generally. 

Charley  Gibbs  reasoned  the  point  over,  too,  and  as  he  was  a 
fellow  of  some  moral  spirit,  and  never  much  given  to  extrava 
gance  in  anything — not  even  in  business  lying — he  privately  con 
cluded  to  give  Samuel's  system  a  trial,  on  his  own  account. 
The  result  was  slow,  but  not  less  sure :  and  ere  long,  he  detected 
First  Broadcloth  at  the  same  game.  Shortly  after,  First  Cotton 
fell  into  it — sneakingly  like,  as  if  he  felt  ashamed  of  it ;  but 
after  a  while,  a  little  more  openly,  and  then  boldly,  like  a  man 
who  knew  what  was  right,  and  wasn't  afraid  to  do  it,  or  say  it 
either. 

The  other  clerks  opened  their  eyes,  and  reflected.  In  time, 
they  began  to  regard  each  other  suspiciously ;  and  then  to — 
think ;  and  then  to  venture  upon  the  system  carefully,  as  they 
thought,  and — privately,  and  then  by  degrees  not  quite  so  pri 
vately,  and  then  they  found  that  the  plan  worked — SOMEHOW. 

But  still  they  noticed  at  the  same  time  that  Samuel's  custom 
ers  continued  to  increase  •  that,  in  fact,  although  their  own  busi 
ness  improved  under  the  new  system,  his  went  ahead  the  fastest. 
Not  that  he  had  more  customers  than  they,  but  that  he  made 
more  new  ones  than  they  did  ;  that  his  men  appeared  to  have 
more  confidence  in  him,  than  theirs  did  in  them  ;  and  that  his 
"  friends"  rolled  up  bigger  bills  than  theirs  did.  They  did  not 
understand  this  at  first ;  but  the  reason  was  comprehensible  in 
time  :  Samuel  was  the  great  ORIGINAL.  His  name  had  "  got  up" 
first.  They  were  only  imitators. 

But  that  made  no  difference.  The  imitation  PAID,  and  far 
better,  too,  than  the  old  plan.  This  was  with  them  the  MAIN 
point. 

At  length,  however,  the  system  began  to  bear  its  legitimate 


240          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

fruits.  Many  of  the  clerks  who  had  at  first  taken  hold  of  the 
truth  as  a  mere  matter  of  policy,  found  it  in  time  so  pleasant, 
that  they  adopted  it,  one  after  another,  from  principle.  Upon 
reaching  this  point,  they  made  a  discovery,  viz.  :  that  truth  as  a 
principle  elevated  their  thoughts,  strengthened  their  self-confi 
dence,  and  inspired  them  with  a  feeling  to  which  they  had  pre 
viously  been  strangers — MORAL  STAMINA.  The  delightfulness  of 
this  high  feeling  made  MEN  of  them ; — imbued  them  with  a 
solemn  consciousness  of  their  individual  duties  as  men  to  their 
/^Wow-men,  to  themselves,  to  that  great  principle  which  has  so 
few  friends — Truth,  and  to  that  principle's  creator — The  August. 

By-and-bye  this  portion  of  the  clerks  and'  Samuel  became, 
by  degrees,  very  friendly.  They  appeared  to  understand  each 
other,  to  entertain  an  excellent  feeling  for  one  another,  to  counsel 
with  each  other,  and  to  hold  little  meetings  together,  nights, 
down  stairs,  in  the  packing-room — Bill  Bradley' s  department, 
and  where  that  worthy  was  as  much  of  a  monarch  as  any  Presi 
dent  or  King  ;  and,  like  a  good-natured  potentate,  he  graciously 
accorded  his  permission  to  the  "  up-stairers1'  to  hold  their  evening 
meetings  in  his  royal  hall  as  often  as  they  liked,  also  authorizing 
them  to  use  his  empty  packing-boxes  for  seats,  and  his  packing- 
table  to  sit  around  ;  himself  joining  them,  sometimes,  and  won 
dering  in  his  silent,  meditative  way,  at  the  great  change  which 
had  come  over  "  the  spirit  of  their  dreams." 

"  There's  Tom  Rickets,"  mused  the  wondering  packer,  "  who 
used  to  dress  so  loud  (anglice,  flashily),  with  his  knowin'  hat, 
his  green  coat,  his  plaid  vest,  his  great  long  guard-chain,  his  blue 
pants  and  his  pattern  (patent)  leathers — Lord,  how  he's  altered ! 
Nice  suit  of  plain  black,  now — just  like  a  gen'leman.  And 
Bill  Rider,  too,  without  his  loud  choker.  Well,  I  wouldn't 
have  believed  it,  if  I'd  only  heered  tell  on't.  And  Frank  Tis- 
dale,  without  his  cigar  !  And  Joe  Thompson,  without  his  eternal 
of  oaths,  and  his  talk  about  the  women,  and  brandy 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          241 

punches,  and  races,  and  fast  teams,  and  sparrin'  matches,  and 
bluff!  And  Tom  Davenport,  without  his  cigar  stump,  and  his 
gas  about  that  little  actress  !  And  Charley  Gibbs,  without  his 
Miss  Nancy  airs !  And  then  the  other  up-stairers — tellin'  the 
truth  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  and  stickin'  to  it,  too !  Well 
— it's  high  !  Dry  goods  have  turned  round.  It  takes  me  right 
down !" 

But  this  was  not  all.  The  Samuel  boys,  as  they  were  called, 
were  off  other  nights,  sometimes  solitarily,  and  sometimes  in 
couples — not,  as  of  yore,  at  balls,  theatres,  rum  saloons,  gambling 
hells,  brothels,  or  sporting-places,  but  threading  narrow  alleys, 
diving  into  damp  cellars,  climbling  narrow  staircases,  and  pene 
trating  garrets — the  homes  of  the  friendless  and  the  stricken ; 
easing  the  wants  of  the  poor,  making  glad  the  hearts  of  the  sor 
rowing,  pom-ing  oil  upon  the  wounds  of  the  sick  and  feeble, 
whispering  courage  to  the  despondent,  clothing  the  naked,  and 
leading  hearts  that  had  long  forgotten  Him,  back  again  to  God — 
and  finding  such  pleasure  in  their  voluntary  good  work  as  they 
had  never  received  from  ball,  or  spree,  or  theatre,  or  gambling 
hell,  or  brothel,  and  such  excitement  as  they  had  never  expe 
rienced  in  all  their  lives  from  whisky-punches,  egg-nogs,  brandy- 
smashes,  mint-juleps,  or  gin-slings,  and  an  inward  satisfaction  and 
delight  which  they  would  not  have  exchanged  for  empires. 

The  other  "  boys  "  had  not  reached  this  point ;  they  rarely  dis 
turbed  the  meetings  in  the  packing-room  by  their  presence, 
although  they  sometimes  professed  an  interest  in  them.  They 
continued  to  adhere  to  the  truth,  however,  in  "  selling,"  because 
it — paid. 

The  "  correctness  "  of  the  salesmen  in  the  house  of  John  P. 
Townsend  became  known.  Ere  long  it  was  a  common  topic  in 
the  trade.  Rival  houses  spoke  of  it  as  they  would  of  a  good 
joke.  They  were  rash  enough,  for  a  time,  to  mention  it  to  their 
own  customers,  as  "  the  last  best  thing  out,"  and  afterwards  dis 
covered  that  their  friends  had  "  strayed  off"  to  that  very  house 


242          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

to  give  its  "  correct "  young  gentlemen  a  trial.  Then  they 
laughed — the  other  way !  Country  dealers  spoke  of  it  among 
themselves  as  the  greatest  wonder  in  New  York  ;  and  the  report 
scattered — in  every  direction  ;  the  jealousy  of  rival  houses  help 
ing  its  diffusion  more  than  any  other  cause,  and,  as  a  "  runner  " 
expressed  it,  "  the  thing  took."  Old  customers,  who  had  not 
made  a  bill  at  the  house  for  years,  returned ;  and  new  ones  at 
their  heels.  The  clerks  were  busy  as  bees,  from  morn  till  dusk, 
many  of  them  till  late  at  night.  But  as  they  were  as  much  in 
terested  as  their  employer  in  the  sales,  they  bore  the  press  of 
business  patiently.  During  the  fall  and  spring,  while  trade 
"  dragged"  at  other  establishments,  dealers  remarked  that  "  the 
house  with  the  correct  clerks"  was  comparatively  overburdened 
with  business — nay,  absolutely  "  run  down."  And  when  one  of 
its  salesmen  appeared  in  the  street,  the  runners  of  rival  houses 
would  point  him  out,  sometimes  to  a  customer,  and  sometimes 
to  one  another,  saying,  with  mixed  envy  and  interest — "  There 
goes  one  of  John  P.  Townsend's  '  correct'  boys  !" 

The  "  correct  boys  "  became  famous — Samuel  particularly. 
The  clerks  of  rival  houses  regarded  them  with  jealousy — the 
heads  of  rival  houses  with  marked  affability  and  manifest  in 
terest.  Indeed,  the  latter  were  only  too  happy  to  meet  and  treat 
them  with  uncommon  urbanity.  But  the  ;;  correct  boys"  under 
stood  the  meaning  of  their  condescending  attentions.  "  They 
were  not  to  be  caught."  "  They  did  very  well  at  Mr.  Town 
send's — very  well — as  well  as  they  desired  to."  On  discovering 
which  fact,  the  heads  of  the  rival  houses  ceased  their  condescend 
ing  importunities,  and  returned  to  their  usual  dignity. 

The  "  correct  boys"  were  not  to  be  seduced  from  their  allegi 
ance  to  John  P.  Townsend.  He  paid  well — it  was  his  policy  ; 
and  as  he  was  a  far-seeing  man,  he  knew  it  to  be  a  policy  which 
would  secure  the  best  talent  in  the  market,  and  enable  him  to 
keep  it.  His  golden  motto  was  visible  in  all  his  transactions : 
"  Who  pays  well,  is  served  well."  .  He  could  afford  to  laugh  at 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          243 

the  tempting  inducements  of  his  rivals  to  beguile  away  his  clerks 
— and  he  did. 

Mr.  Townsend  was  in  raptures. 

"  The  old  house  stands  firm,"  he  would  say  to  himself — "  firm  as 
a  rock.  Everything  works  in  its  favor ;  but  truth  and  honesty  most 
of  all !"  And  he  would  laugh  in  his  dry,  pleasant  way.  *'  Samuel 
is  a  jewel — his  piety  pays  /"  and  he  would  rub  his  sleek,  fat  hands, 
and  look  pleasantly,  through  the  panes  of  the  partition,  at  his 
small  army  of  "  correct  boys,"  who  were  busy  as  bees  with  their 
numerous  customers,  who  were  also  as  busy  as  bees  in  rolling 
up  their  bills.  "  Ah  !"  cried  the  merchant,  surveying  the  scene 
with  a  proud,  half-laughing  eye,  "  there's  a  sight  to  make  a  job 
ber  shout.  A  rare  sight — a  great  sight — a  paying  sight !  Dear  ! 
— dear !  what  a  blessed  thing  religion  is,  and — money  !" 

There  was  one  gentleman  in  the  house,  however,  who  did  not 
relish  the  turn  which  its  affairs  were  taking — Mr.  Brigham,  the 
confidential  clerk.  That  worthy  viewed  the  new  movement  with 
uneasiness.  It  not  only  boded  him  no  good — it  threatened  him 
with  ruin. 

For  years  Mr.  Brigham  had  been  to  the  house  of  John  P. 
Townsend  what  the  Premier  is  to  the  British  crown — what  the 
Secretary  of  State  is  to  the  American  Cabinet — the  man,  that  is 
to  say,  the  confidential  clerk.  He  was — or  rather  he  innocently 
flattered  himself  so — the  confidential  clerk,  John  P.  Townsend, 
the  silent  partner,  the  stock,  the  business,  the  everything.  He 
was  THE  HOUSE  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  thought  so,  and  a  great  many 
others  thought  so,  too — the  book-keepers,  clerks,  packers,  and 
porters,  for  instance — in  fact,  everybody  in  the  house,  except — 
Mr.  John  P.  Townsend  himself,  and  the  silent  partner.  They — 
DIDN'T  ;  but  they  did  not  publish  their  opinion.  It  was  therefore 
no  great  wonder  if  Mr.  Brigham  entertained  that  thought,  and 
that  he  grew  in  time  to  believe  it  as  he  would  any  other  thing 
which  everybody  affirmed  to  be  true,  and  which  it  was  so  very 


244:         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

gratifying  to  his  own  feelings  to  believe.  Nor  was  this  all.  The 
confidential  clerk  knew  himself  to  be  a  man  of  rare  talent,  which 
was  very  true  ;  that  he  had,  in  a  measure,  built  up  the  house  of 
John  P.  Townsend — that  is  to  say,  that  it  was  largely  owing  to 
his  talent,  his  energies,  his  knowledge  of  the  business,  and  his 
influence  with  city  and  country  dealers,  that  the  house  of  John 
P.  Townsend  had  reached  its  present  high  standing  and  position 
— which  was  equally  true ;  that  he  was,  in  fact,  although  only  a 
mere  confidential  clerk,  a  perfect  business  giant — which  was  also 
true  ;  that  he  was  known  as  such  to  all  the  great  houses  in  the 
dry  goods  trade,  and  that  either  or  all  of  them  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  give  him  even  more  than  he  was  receiving  in  the 
house  of  John  P.  Townsend,  for  the  sake  of  getting  him  away 
from  that  house,  and  into  their  own  employ — which  was  no  less 
true ;  that  he  was  a  thorough  master  of  his  business,  and  of  the 
business  of  John  P.  Townsend's  business  also,  and  that  he  could} 
if  so  disposed,  leave  the  house  of  John  P.  Townsend,  and  carry 
with  him  to  any  other  house  a  very  large  proportion  of  that  busi 
ness — that  is  to  say,  the  custom  patronage,  which  was,  perhaps, 
no  less  true  than  the  rest ;  that  if  he  was  so  largely  instrumental 
in  building  up  the  house  of  John  P.  Townsend,  he  could  doubt 
less,  if  urged  either  by  passion,  self-interest,  or  any  other  mo 
tive,  to  do  so,  be  equally  instrumental  in  breaking  it  down — that 
he  had,  in  any  event,  the  ability,  if  so  disposed,  to  do  it  a  serious 
amount  of  harm  : — all  of  which  was  doubtless  partially  true,  but 
not  perhaps  quite  so  true  or  correct  as  the  confidential  clerk 
fancied  it  to  be. 

He  was  not,  however,  very  far  wrong  in  his  estimate  of  his 
own  talents,  nor  in  his  opinion  of  the  estimate  which  was  placed 
upon  them  by  the  house.  Both  Mr.  Townsend  and  the  silent 
partner  did  him  full  justice  in  this  and  several  other  respects — 
that  is  to  say,  they  equally  understood  and  appreciated  his 
talents  and — himself.  To  keep  him  in  good-humor,  they  paid  him 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          245 

well;  to  flatter  his  vanity  and  retain  their  hold  upon  him,  they 
gave  to  him  a  certain  degree  of  confidence,  a  certain  degree 
of  power,  and  a  certain  degree  of  influence — just  enough 
of  each  to  flatter  his  self-love,  and  lead  him  to  believe 
that  he  was  all-important,  and  all-powerful;  while  to  keep 
their  grip  upon  him  until  they  should  feel  themselves  suffi 
ciently  strong  to  either  send  him  adrift,  or  make  him  under 
stand  his  place,  they  pampered  him  with  the  hope  that  they 
would,  at  no  distant  day,  give  him  an  interest  in  the  house — 
that  is,  when  the  house  should,  through  his  energies,  reach  a  sat 
isfactory  point  in  its  yearly  business — at  which  point,  they  pri 
vately  designed  to  wake  him  from  his  fond,  delusive  dream,  and 
let  him — run,  and  do  his  worst.  In  the  meanwhile,  they  trusted 
to  a  judicious  application  of  flattery  to  keep  him  in  the  traces, 
and  hold  him  with  a  firm,  but  easy,  hand. 

But  all  this  was  under  the  old  system — the  old  system,  in 
which  the  confidential  clerk  was  so  able  a  master.  The  new 
movement  was  bringing  about  another  state  of  things — alto 
gether.  It  was  popularizing  the  house  in  city  and  country,  all 
over  the  Union,  in  fact,  as  well  as  in  British  America, — strength 
ening  the  house — augmenting,  its  reputation,  its  business,  and 
consequently  its' profits — and  rapidly  rendering  it  entirely  inde 
pendent  of  HIM — the  confidential  clerk,  of  him — the  all-pow 
erful  ! 

The  gentleman  turned  pale  at  the  thought ;  his  lips  parted, 
and  his  teeth  absolutely  cowered  in  terror.  And  this  new  sys 
tem,  which  was  doing  such  wonders  for  the  house,  and  threaten 
ing  him — the  till  of  late  all-important — with  disaster — who 
was  it  that  produced  it,  wrought  it  out,  set  it  going  7 

Who  but  one  who  had  already  given  Mr.  Brigham  some  trouble 
in  another  quarter,  and  threatened  him  with  more  still ! 

Who  but  the  reigning  favorite — whose  name  was  in  every 
body's  mouth — whose  acquaintance  was  courted  by  all  in  the 


246          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

house  and  in  the  trade — whom  city  and  country  dealers  sought 
out,  as  they  would  some  great  man  who  could  confer  lasting  fa 
vors  upon  them — who  had  accomplished  more  in  his  first  eighteen 
months  than  most  clerks  perform  in  five  years — whom  the  head 
of  the  house,  John  P.  Townsend,  appeared  to  take  particular  de. 
light  in  honoring  with  long  familiar  interviews  in  his  office,  and 
who'  alone,  of  all  the  clerks,  had  the  privilege  of  entering  the 
office  at  pleasure,  of  reading  the  morning  papers  there,  of  sitting 
there,  and  of  making  himself  perfectly  at  home  there,  whether 
John  P.  Townsend  was  in  or  no.  Who  but — Samuel ! 

The  name  came  hissingly  through  Mr.  Brigham's  large  glisten 
ing  teeth,  which  seemed  to  writhe  at  it. 

Samuel ! 

The  lips  all  but  blistered  at  its  sound. 

"  If  I  should  take  him  in  hand,  now  !"  continued  Mr.  Brigham, 
musingly.  "  What  then  ?  Let  me  see.  I  have  read  of  a  man 
who  was  in  power  and  in  peril,  as  I  am.  A  courtier  wasp  came 
in  his  way,  and  was  near  to  unseating,  near  to  destroying,  him 
What  did  the  man  do  1  He  put  out  his  hand,  while  yet  it  was 
strong  with  the  iron  panoply  of  power,  and  when  he  drew  it 
back ,  the  wasp  was — CRUSHED  !" 

The  teeth  wriggled  and  danced,  and  appeared  to  be  intoxicated 
with  wild  joy,  at  the  result. 

"  And  I — I,"  mused  Mr.  Brigham,  "  might  put  out  my  hand, 
and  do  the  like.  There  are  two  interests  at  stake  to  incite  me. 
SHALL  IT 

"  Oh !  do — do  !"  laughed  and  danced  the  teeth.  "  It  would 
be  glorious  fun.  Do — do  !" 

Mr.  Brigham  was  for  a  long  time — ten  minutes — a  long  time 
for  him ! — undecided.  But  at  the  end  of  that  period  his  will 
was  settled. 

The  teeth  sent  up  a  shout  in  their  own  way,  at  the  character 
of  his  decision.  They  hooted,  and  yelled,  and  leaped,  and  rolled, 


WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.         247 

and  jumped,  and  screamed,  like  cannibals  round  a  roasting  fire, 
with  a  prisoner,  who  was  timid,  and  chained,  and  helpless,  burning 
at  the  stake. 

The  man's  cold,  gray,  cat-like  eyes,  ever  all  but  closed,  from 
habit,  peered  through  their  half-pent  lashes  like  the  sharp,  dread 
orb-glitter  of  a  basilisk. 

The  demon  of  his  bold,  serpent  nature  was  in  that  glance.  It 
boded  mischief,  wrath,  triumph — all  in  one. 


CHAPTER     XVII. 

<l  OH,  dear — I  shall  die  !"  cried  Isabella,  laughingly,  one  after 
noon,  on  her  return  from  a  walk. 

"  Why,  my  dear — what  now  1"  asked  her  aunt,  looking  up 
from  an  evening  paper. 

"  Oh!  dear — such  a  good  thing  !"  returned  Isabella,  throwing 
off  her  things,  and  sinking  back  upon  a  lounge.  "  You  wouldn't 
believe  it!"  ^ 

"  Believe  what,  my  dear  ?w 

u  Samuel — "  began  Isabella,  clapping  her  hands  in  the  exuber 
ance  of  her  mirth. 

"  What  of  him  ?"  asked  her  aunt,  with  an  air  of  interest. 

"Is  on  a  new  tack,"  cried  Isabella,  with  screaming  laughter. 
"  Oh  dear— Oh  dear !" 

"  Indeed  ?  I  should  have  thought  that  with  his  poor,  and  his 
packing-room  society,  he  had  business  enough !" 

"  I  should  think  so,  too,  aunt.  But  his  new  movement  is  one 
of  the  wildest,  strangest — " 


248  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

*"  But  what  is  it  T'  demanded  her  aunt.  "  What  is  he  doing 
now?" 

"  Trying  to  convert  the  ministers  /"  answered  her  niece,  clap 
ping  her  hands.  "  Oh,  dear  !"  placing  her  hand  upon  her  sides, 
"  I  shall  die.  I  know  I  shall !" 

"  I  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  after  a  few  moments'  reflec 
tion,  "  that  Samuel  will  have  his  labor  for  his  pains." 

"I  think  so,  too !"  laughed  Isabella. 

"  Clergymen,"  continued  her  aunt,  "  who  need  converting — and 
the  number  is  by  no  means  small — are  the  last  persons  in  the 
world  to  be  converted.  They  get  so  accustomed  to  professional 
piety,  that  they  become,  in  time,  perfectly  coated  with  it,  as  a 
leaden  plate  is  coated  by  a  surface  of  copper  or  silver,  through 
which  nothing  can  penetrate." 

"  I  think,"  ventured  Miriam,  with  her  usual  modest  deference, 
"  that  we  misjudge  the  members  of  that  noblest  of  all  profes 
sions." 

"  Only  hear  our  credulous  Mirry,  aunt !"  cried  Isabella. 

"  On  what  do  you  base  that  impression,  my  dear  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Townsend,  mildly. 

l<  Yes  ;  do  let  us  hear  !"  laughed  Isabella. 

"  Upon  my  conviction  of  its  truthfulness,"  replied  Miriam. 
"The  world  is  so  fond  of  taking  ungenerous  views  of  God's 
people,  that  when  it  discovers  a  single  sign  of  weakness,  it  exults 
over  it  with  a  loud  shout  of  rejoicing — never  pausing  to  in 
quire  whether  there  may  not  be  some  fair  excuse  for  that 
weakness.  And  when  it  descries  a  single  unfaithful  member,  it 
rails  out  against  the  entire  body  !  Is  this  fair  1" 

"  No,  my  dear.  But  when  it  finds  that  the  '  unfaithful'  ones 
are  more  numerous  than  the  faithful,  it  has  good  reason  for  its 
outcry." 

"  That  is  too  sweeping  a  charge,  dear  aunt !"  said  Miriam,  with 
gentle  reproach.  "  If  you  would  only  examine  the  subject  in  a 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          249 

spirit  of  generous   candor,  you  would  find  the  number  of  the 
really  unfaithful  to  be  very  small  indeed  !" 

"  What  a  dear  delightful  little  innocent !"  cried  Isabella,  jeer- 
ingly. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend.  <{  If  the  number 
of  the  faithful  ones  is  so  much  greater  than  that  of  the  unfaith 
ful,  why  are  not  more  converts  made  1" 

"  Because,"  answered  Miriam,  "  a  pastor  can  do  but  little  un 
less  his  efforts  are  seconded  by  his  people.  They  expect  him  to 
do  the  whole  of  the  work,  and  will  not,  except  in  rare  instances, 
even  lend  him  the  influence  of  their  example.  When  a  stranger 
to  religion  goes  to  church,  and  finds  himself  touched  by  the  holy 
utterances  of  the  preacher,  he  looks  around,  and  finds  perhaps  a 
face  or  two  with  which  he  is  familiar.  These  faces  belong  to 
men  or  women  whom  he  knows,  either  in  a  social  or  business 
Avay,  to  be  everything  but  Christians,  and  he  gets  the  impression 
that  religion  is  a  mere  farce,  since  those  who  profess  to  be  gov 
erned  by  it,  are  scarcely  deserving  of  respect.  Thus  the  heavenly 
drop  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  preacher,  dries  up  and  dis 
appears  ;  and  thus  the  good  resulting  from  the  labors  of  the 
pastor  is  neutralized  by  the  unfaithfulness  of  his  people.  The 
pastor  knows  this,  and  yet  he  bravely  struggles  on.  But  this, 
although  a  great,  is  yet  only  one  of  many  obstacles  with  which 
he  has  to  contend — all  of  them  arising  from  his  own  people'; 
and  yet,  in  the  face  of  them  all,  he  nobly  works  on,  yearning  to 
be  the  instrument  of  good  to  many,  and  yet  thankful  if  he  can 
be  the  means  of  grace  to  one." 

"  If  that  be  true,"  demanded  Isabella.  "  why  has  Samuel  en 
tered  upon  his  crusade  against  the  pulpit  infidels  ?" 

"  I  think,"  returned  Miriam,  "  you  misapprehend  the  real  char 
acter  of  his  movement !" 

"  Indeed  !    You  think  that  ?    How  very  modest  and  knowing  /" 
jeered  her  cousin. 


250         WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

"  What  is  he  doing,  then,  my  dear  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend, 
kindly. 

'*  Encouraging  the  discouraged"  replied  Miriam,  with  a  sweet, 
glad  smile ;  "  waking  up  those,  who,  from  any  cause,  have  lost 
their  enthusiasm,  or  fallen,  insensibly  and  by  degrees,  into  un 
fruitful  mannerism." 

"  A  hopeless  task  !"  observed  Isabella. 

"  And  yet,"  ventured  Miriam,  "  he  has  not  wholly  failed." 

"  How,  my  dear  ?"  said  her  aunt,  in  surprise.  '*  You  were 
aware  of  this  before,  and  yet  withheld  the  information  from  us !" 

Isabella  was  at  once  mortified  and  indignant.  She  had  flattered 
herself  that  she  alone  had  been  the  first  to  discover  the  young 
Christian's  new  movement ;  and  now — 

"  The  secret  was  not  mine,  aunt,"  returned  Miriam.  "  It  was 
imparted  to  me  in  confidence." 

"  But,"  said  her  cousin,  "  now  that  it  is  known,  I  presume,  you 
are  at  liberty  to  give  us  the  name  of  your  informant  ?'' 

"  Aunt,"  said  Miriam,  "  would  it  be  proper  in  me  to  do  so  ?'* 

"  Why  do  you  ask  it,  'Bel  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  returned  the  latter,  "  who  is  more 
in  the  way  of  learning  Samuel's  movements  than  ourselves  ?" 

"  In  that  case,  Mirry,  I  can  see  no  harm  in  your  mentioning 
the  name  of  your  friend." 

I  had  the  information  from  Fanny  Adriance,"  said  Miriam. 

"  Who  got  it,  of  course,  from  Charley  Gibbs,"  observed  Isa 
bella.  "  I  see  it  all,  now !" 

"  But  you  were  saying,  Mirry,  that  Samuel  had  had  some  suc 
cess  in  his  new  idea  ?" 

"  Yes,  aunt.  He  has  won  the  love  and  confidence  of  seven 
worthy  clergymen,  who  are  very  grateful  to  him  for  his  kind  en 
couragement  and  assistance." 

"  Is  that  all?"  asked  Isabella,  contemptuously. 


WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.          251 

"  No,  coz.  They  have  woke  up,  taken  hold  of  their  work  with 
fresh  vigor,  enthusiasm,  and  earnestness ;  and — " 

"  With  what  result  ?"  interrupted  her  impatient  cousin. 

"  The  happiest,"  replied  Miriam,  joyfully.  "To  the  agreeable 
surprise  of  the  majority  of  the  members  of  their  congregations, 
who,  at  the  gentle  but  stirring  solicitation  of  Samuel,  who  has 
seen  them  separately,  as  well  as  jointly,  have  also  started  from 
their  lethargy,  and  come  up  to  the  support  of  their  pastors,  who, 
finding  themselves  encouraged  by  their  people,  have  risen  up,  in 
all  the  strength  and  power  of  their  pious  might,  and  are  now 
dealing,  every  Sabbath,  brave  and  successful  blows  for  our  Lord 
and  Redeemer." 

" '  Brave  blows !'  "  repeated  Isabella,  with  a  dry,  cutting  smile. 
"  One  of  Samuefs  phrases- !" 

"  It  is  a  striking  one,  'Bel !"  said  her  aunt,  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  Miriam  an  opportunity  to  recover  from  the  blushing  con 
fusion  into  which  she  had  been  thrown  by  her  cousin's  satirical 
remark. 

"  Oh,  aunt,"  laughed  Isabella,  "  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with 
anything  of  Samuel's.  But  now  that  he  has  taken  the  subject 
up,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  him  give  Mr.  Engold — our  own 
pastor — a  little  stirring  up.  It  would  improve  MmT* 

"In  what  respect?"  asked  her  aunt,  with  a  lurking  smile. 

"In  many,"  answered  Isabella. 

"Come— come,  'Bel,  specify!" 

"I  think,"  said  Isabella,  with  a  mischievous-  glance  at  her 
cousin,  whom  she  knew  to  be  exceedingly  sensitive  at  the  slight 
est  disrespectful  reference  to  her  pastor,  "  he  needs  arousing !  I 
always  fancy,  when  listening  to  him,  that  he  is  more  mindful  of 
the  euphony  of  his  periods  than  he  is  of  the  salvation  of  his 
hearers !" 

"  Is  there  any  harm  in  a  preacher's  showing  himself  a  scholar "?" 
asked  Miriam. 


252  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Very  great  harm  indeed,  cousin,  when,  as  in  Mr.  Engold's 
case,  he  makes  that  his  principal  business  !" 

"  That  is  a  grave  charge,  'Bel,  to  make  against  one's  own  min 
ister  !"  observed  her  aunt. 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  mine  alone !"  returned  Isabella.  "  Everybody  says 
so — that  is,"  she  added,  with  an  arch  smile  at  her  cousin,  "  every 
body  who  does  not  stand  in  awe  of  him  because  he  is  their  pas 
tor  !  I  have  heard  uncle,  for  instance,  say'it  a  hundred  times  ; 
and  Mr.  Crittenden,  also ;  and  they  are  pretty  good  authorities, 
I  imagine !" 

"  I  esteem  guardy  and  Mr.  Crittenden  very  much,"  said  Miri 
am,  gently ;  "  but  I  think  they  are  wrong  in  this." 

"And  I  think  they  are  right !"  rejoined  Isabella. 

"  Frankly,  cousin  ?"  asked  Miriam. 

"Frankly!" 

Miriam's  brow  became  saddened. 

"  More  than  that,"  continued  her  cousin.  "  I  have  never  fancied 
that  Mr.  Engold  was  even  a  converted  man !" 

"  Oh,  cousin — cousin !     You  are  cruel !" 

"  In  what  ?     For  speaking  what  I  think  T 

"No!"  answered  Miriam;  "but  for  speaking  so  unkindly  of 
one  of  God's  agents  !" 

"  His  own  agent,  rather !"  retorted  Isabella. 

Miriam  looked  at  her  imploringly. 

"  Now  don't,  don't,  coz !"  she  said.  "  I  will  take  it  as  a  favor 
if  you  won't  talk  so  !"  . 

"  Pshaw !  Nonsense !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  impetuously.  "  I'll 
say  what  I  think !  I  am  my  own  mistress,  I  presume !" 

"True,  dear  cousin!  But  there  are  subjects  which,  it  ap 
pears  to  me,  we  should  never  touch,  even  so  lightly — that  is,  I 
mean,  with  a  single  disrespectful  breath.  And  this  is  one  of 
them  !" 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          253 

"  Are  clergymen  any  better  than  other  people  ?"  demanded 
Isabella,  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  dear  cousin,"  replied  Miriam,  gently,  "  because  they 
are  the  ambassadors  of  Our  Prince !" 

"  Not  when  they  do  their  own  work,  instead  of  their  Master's !" 

"  Oh,  cousin — dear  cousin !  don't  tallr  so,  don't.  You  hurt 
me  ! — I  will  give  you  anything,  do  anything  for  you,  if  you  only 
won't !" 

"  Miriam — "  said  Isabella,  surveying  her  sternly 

"Well,  cousin ?" 

"  You  are  wrong  !" 

"  Oh,  no — cousin.  Oh,  no — don't  say  so.  I  wouldn't  hurt 
your  feelings  for  the  world  !" 

"  You  are  wrong,  I  tell  you,  to  permit  your  prejudices  or  your 
feelings  to  blind  your  judgment !  If  you  want  to  pass  for  a  think 
ing,  reasoning  being,  you  must  give  your  mind  free,  untrammel 
led  play,  and  believe  in  the  evidence  of  your  eyes!" 

"  I  see  well  enough  already,  dear  cousin,"  replied  Miriam ; 
"  and  what  I  see  makes  me  very  happy.  I  am  content  with 
that." 

"  Your  prejudices  blind  you,  coz !" 

,"  Don't  say  so,  dear  'Bel— don't !" 

"  I  will  say  so,  ,when  I  think  it !" 

"  Then  you  may,  dear  cousin — you  may.  Say  what  you  will 
of  me,  and  to  me,  but  don't  speak  slightingly  of  the  workmen  of 
our  Prince !" 

"  I  am  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,  Mirry.  I  am  speaking  of 
one  whom  I,  in  common  with  many  others,  regard  as  his  own 
workman.  If  I  thought  for  a  single  moment  that  Mr.  Engold 
was  one  of  GOD'S  ministers,  I  would  cut  off  my  right  hand  sooner 
than  breathe  one  word  against  him  !" 

"  If  he  be  not  one  of  GOD'S  preachers,"  asked  Miriam,  with  a 
bewildered  air,  "  whose,  then,  is  he  1" 


254:          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT   OR  THE  LEFT. 

"SOCIETY'S  !"  returned  Isabella,  with  a  freezing  smite.  "That 
is  his  only  God  and  Master !" 

"  Oh,  cousin — cousin !" 

"  I  see  him  with  a  stranger's  eye,  and  not  his  dupe's !"  said 
Isabella,  coldly.  "  He  uses  the  pulpit,  not  to  serve  his  Maker's 
interests,  but — his  ownf  His  discourses  exhibit,  not  the  burning 
earnestness  of  an  ambassador  of  Christ,  but  the  scholarly  accom 
plishments  of  Henry  Engold  !  Mark,  with  what  an  air  of  studied 
dignity  he  rises  before  the  sacred  desk  ;  with  what  studied  rhet 
oric  he  invokes  Divine  Grace ;  with  what  studied  elegance 
and  grandeur  he  commences  his  discourse,  which  he  has  polished 
to  the  silvery  smoothness  of  a  graceful,  but  soulless  poem ;  with 
what  studied  mellifluousness  he  reads,  not  his  sermon,  but  his 
masterly  literary  composition ;  how  studiedly  he  meanders 
through  this  soft,  gurgling  rill  of — dry  emptiness ;  how  grace 
fully  he  gesticulates,  how  gracefully  he  articulates — the  graceful 
cadences  of  his  oily  voice  falling  on  the  silken  ears  of  his  com 
placent  hearers  like  strains  of  lulling  music,  to  the  close ;  when, 
the  doxology  over,  he,  with  a  mingled  air  of  studied  gracefulness, 
benignity,  and  honeyed  sweetness,  sends  his  auditors  home  to — 
ponder  upon  their  good  fortune  in  possessing  so  charming  a  rhet 
orician,  so  polished  a  scholar,  and  so  accomplished  a  gentleman  for 
their  preacher  /" 

Mrs.  Townsend  smiled ;  Miriam  was  full  of  sadness. 

"  You  are  unkind,  cousin !"  she  said. 

"  1  have  no  doubt  you  think  so,"  returned  Isabella ;  "  still  I  am 
satisfied,  and  so  is  aunt,  and  uncle,  and  Mr.  Crittenden,  and  every^ 
body  else,  who  have  ever  heard  Mr.  Engold,  and  are  independ 
ent  enough  to  speak  what  they  think  and  know,  that  I  have  not 
overdrawn  his  Sunday  portrait." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  aunt?"  asked  Miraim. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "I  incline  to  the 
opinion  that,  Bel  is  nearer  right  than  wrong." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  255 

"  There,  coz !"  cried  Isabella,  triumphantly. 

Miriam  looked  at  them  alternately  for  a  few  moments,  like 
one  bewildered,  and  then  shaking  her  head,  observed,  with  modest 
diffidence — 

"  I  have  experienced  great  comfort  from  Mr.  Engold's  preach 
ing,  and  have  ever  found  it  full  of  sweetness  and  of  goodness!" 

"  I  doubt  it  not,  my  dear,"  said  her  aunt,  kindly.  "  To  an 
organization  like  yours,  any  discourse  that  had  in  it  a  single  grain 
of  piety,  would  seem  full  of  Christian  beauty.  'Bel  and  I  can 
comprehend  that.  But  we  are  sterner,  and  more  rigorous  in  our 
demands.  We  require  a  sermon  to  possess,  not  a  single  grain, 
but  to  be  wholly  made  up  of,  and  imbued  with,  the  spirit  of 
Divine  Truth !" 

"  There,  cqz  !     What  have  you  got  to  say  now  ?w 

"  I  have  a  great  respect  for  aunt's  superior  knowledge,  obser 
vation,  and  experience,"  answered  Miriam,  "  and  for  yours  too 
dear  cousin ;  but  I  still  think  that  Mr.  Engold  is  a  loyal  servant 
to  his  Prince.  If  I  thought  otherwise,  I  should  be  unhappy  !" 

"  But  only  look  at  it  once,"  said  Isabella.  "  Whom  has  Mr. 
Engold  been  instrumental  in  saving  1  He  has  been  our  pastor 
for  five  years,  and  where  are  the  fruits  of  his  labors]  He 
preaches  his  flowery  homilies  year  in  and  year  out,  to  the  same 
number  of  exclusives — that  is,  if  they  don't  run  away,  like  Mr. 
Jones  or  Mrs.  Clarke! — and  without  accomplishing  anything. 
Point,  if  you  can,  to  a  single  soul  that  he  has  startled  from  its 
dream  of  sin,  or  to  a  single  heart  that  he  has  turned  from  its  evil 
ways  to  God  ?" 

"  Surely,"  cried  Miriam,  "  Mr.  Engold  has  brought  some  mem 
bers  to  the  church.  Don't  you  remember  how  many  vacant 
pews  we  used  to  have  before  he  became  our  pastor  1  And  they 
are  all  filled  now,  and  have  been  for  a  long  time.  That  is  some 
evidence  in  his  favor — is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Isabella,  "  to  his  talent !    But  you  forget  that 


256          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

these  pews  have  all  been  rented  by  new  arrivals  among  our 
fashionables,  who  have  taken  them,  in  part  because  ours  is  a 
fashionable  church,  and  because  Mr.  Engold  is  a  fashionable 
preacher,  and  in  part  because  they  like  to  have  it  known  and 
said  that  they  belong  to  the  '  Church  of  the  Exclusives  !'  " 

"  I  still  think,"  persisted  Miriam,  with  generous  confidence  in 
her  pastor,  "  that  you  do  Mr.  Engold  great  injustice !" 

"  I  am  astonished  at  your  blind  infatuation,  coz  !"  said  Isabella. 
"  You  put  me  out  of  all  patience !" 

"I  don't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,  dear  'Bel.  I  really 
don't !  But  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  our  pastor  is  a  good 
man.  Haven't  you  ever  noticed  how  tenderly  solicitous  he  is 
for  his  parishioners  ?" 

"  Doubtless,  coz,"  mocked  Isabella  ;  "  for  without  his  parish 
ioners,  where  would  himself  be  !" 

"  That  is  unfair !"  returned  Miriam,  with  a  gentle  smile  of 
mingled  sweetness  and  reproach.     "  Because  Mr.  Engold's  great 
talent  alone  would  secure  him  as  good,  if  not  a  better,  position, 
anywhere !" 
. "  His  talent  would,  doubtless !"  sneered  her  cousin. 

"  It  was  only  a  few  months  ago,"  continued  Miriam,  "  when  a 
church  in  Boston  offered  him  a  thousand  dollars  more  per  year 
than  we  were  paying' him,  if  he  would  only  resign  his  post  with 
us,  and  become  their  pastor.  But  he  nobly  resisted  the  tempta 
tion — " 

11  And  showed  the  letter  to  our  trustees"  interrupted  Isabella, 
mockingly,  "  who  agreed  to  add  fifteen  hundred  to  his  salary,  if 
he  would  stay  !  A  noble  resistance  against  temptation,  truly !" 

Miriam  dropped  her  eyes  in  mingled  anguish  and  bewilder 
ment. 

"  And  it  is  even  suspected,"  continued  the  pitiless  Isabella, 
"  that  Mr.  Engold  got  a  friend  in  that  city  to  manage  the  Boston 
church  into  the  offer,  so  that  he  could  use  it  as  a  weapon  with 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.          257 

which  to  beguile  us  into  an  increase  of  his  salary !  Guardy 
and  the  other  trustees  smilingly  term  it  a  '  smart  financial 
operation.' " 

"  Aunt,"  said  Miriam  imploringly,  ' '  What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  agree  with  the  general  sentiment  upon  the  subject,"  re 
turned  Mrs.  Townsend,  with  a  smile  which  she  could  not  wholly 
repress. 

"  That  this  ungenerous  suspicion  is  true  ?"  asked  Miriam. 

"  No,  my  dear ;  that  the  operation  was  pretty  shrewd !"  re 
turned  her  aunt,  slily.  "  As  to  the  correctness  of  the  suspicion, 
I  have  nothing  to  say  !" 

"  Still  you  have  an  opinion  ]"  asked  Isabella. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Townsend,  slowly. 

"  And  it  concurs  with  that  of  guardy  ?" 

"  We  should  always  respect  the  opinions  of  an  experienced 
mind — particularly  when  it  is  that  of  one's  husband !"  was  the 
laughing  but  dubious  reply. 

Miriam  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  still  skeptical?"  demanded  Isabella,  with  a  cold, 
pitiless  sneer. 

"  No,  cousin,"  returned  Miriam,  with  an  expresssion  of  rare 
sweetness :  "  1  have  still  the  same  trusting  confidence  in  my 
pastor !  He  has  come  to  me  in  my  Redeemer's  name ;  he  has 
said  words  of  comfort  to  my  soul ;  he  has  suggested  to  me  many 
a  pleasant  thought ;  he  has  often  led  me  to  the  presence  of  my 
Prince ;  and,  come  weal,  come  woe,  I  will  stand  by  him  !  I  say 
not  that  he  has  not  his  faults — for  all  are  liable  to  err.  But  I 
do  know  that  he  has  come  to  me  in  my  Redeemer's  name ;  that 
he  has  a  good  and  kindly  heart ;  that  he  is  loving,  affectionate, 
and  gentle ;  that  he  aims  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  him  ; 
and  that  he  does  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  For  these  reasons 
I  have  faith  in  him ;  for  these  I  will  be  steadfast  to  him  :  and 
never  shall  I  utter  a  breath  to  tarnish  his  manly  or  ministerial 


258        WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

fame !  If  I  knew  that  he  had  a  weakness  which  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  success  as  an  agent  of  our  common  Lord,  I  would 
point  it  out  to  him,  saying,  Tor  this,  our  Prince  and  you* are 
reviled  ;'  and — so  noble  is  he — he  would  put  it,  at  once,  away. 
But  not  knowing  of  it,  and  believing  him  to  be  a  true  and  le 
gitimate  messenger  from  my  Prince,  I  will  receive  him  as  such, 
have  confidence  in  him,  and  treat  him  ever  with  the  love,  respect, 
and  deference  which  are  due  to  every  envoy  from  on  High !" 

Isabella  surveyed  her  cousin  with  smiling  astonishment ;  never 
before  had  she  seen  her  so  energetic  or  impassioned,  never  before 
so  brightly  beautiful. 

"  Mirry  is  right,"  observed  Mrs.  Townsend,  thoughtfully. 
"  We  have  judged  our  pastor  too  severely." 

The  announcement,  at  this  moment,  of  a  visitor,  interrupted 
and  put  an  end  to  the  subject. 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

ONE  morning,  Mr.  Townsend  received  a  letter  from  his  wan 
dering  partner,  announcing  his  approaching  return,  and  winding 
up  as  follows  : — 

"  I  am  pleased  beyond  measure  to  learn  the  results  to  the 
house  of  Samuel's  piety.  Pray,  don't  take  this  for  humbug — 
I  said  to  the  house.  Like  you,  my  boy,  I  have  an  exalted  opinion 
of  paying  piety.  Still  I  like  Samuel's  piety  for  another  reason : 
it  is  so  genuine,  and  so  rare.  He  is  a  great  man,  in  his  way — 
that  is,  a  great  good  man ;  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I 
would  give  worlds  to  be  like  him.  Make  the  most  of  that  con 
fession,  old  partner  mine  in  business  iniquity  and  humbug.  Do 
you  remember  what  a  lacing  the  fellow  gave  me  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  him,  in  the  cars  1  I  little  dreamed,  then,  that  my  con 
queror  designed  to  take  his  business  degrees  in  our  house,  and 
still  less  that  the  moral  influence  of  his  piety  would  be  felt  so 
sensibly  upon  its  trade.  And  this  leads  me  to  an  idea,  viz. :  Is  the 
present  system  of  fraud,  falsehood,  and  humbug  in  business  the 
only  paying  one  1  Is  business  necessarily  wedded  to  that  system  ? 
Is  it  not  possible  for  men  to  do  business  on  the  square — as  they 
and  we  all  profess  to  do,  but  as  they  and  we  do  not  ?  The  happy 
results  of  Samuel's  movement  answer  the  latter  question  in  a 
manner  which  leaves  no  room  for  doubt ;  and  I  begin  to  have 
faith  in  it,  although  it  upsets  the  views  which  I  have  entertained 
all  along.  Make  the  most  you  'can  of  this  confession,  also.  The 
fact  is,  partner,  there  is,  after  all,  even  in  trade,  a  tremendous 
moral  influence  in  Honesty,  and  it  is  a  paying  influence  at  that, 
depend  upon  it. 

(359) 


260  WHICH:  THE  KIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  I  have  a  great  desire  to  take  hold  of  our  young  business 
reformer,  and  draw  him  out.  You  cannot  conceive  the  width 
of  the  fellow's  reputation.  I  hear  of  him  everywhere.  The 
dealers  talk  of  him  as  of  a  great  commercial  wonder.  Of  course 
all  this  must  tell,  and  I  rejoice  to  learn  that  it  is  telling,  largely, 
for  the  house.  And  so  you  are  doing  a  tremendous  fall  trade  ? 
Good.  How  it  must  make  our  rivals  groan !  Honesty  pays — 
eh  1  Thanks  to  Samuel !  We  must  do  the  right  thing  by  our 
young  friend  ;  but  I  know  your  business  policy  is  founded  upon 
correct  views,  and  so  I  will  not  enlarge  upon  that  point — a  hint 
is  sufficient. 

"  In  case  you  should  see  fit  to  honor  my  return  with  one  of  my 
favorite  converzationes,  be  kind  enough  to  remember  my  gallery 
of  living  portraits.  If  any  new  ones  have  turned  up  in  my  ab 
sence,  run.  them  in.  I  wish  to  exhibit  them  to  Samuel,  and  get 
his  opinion  of  their  merits.  I  am  curious  to  observe  the  effect 
of  tinsel  in  contrast  with  the  legitimate  article.  You  know  my 
weakness — my  propensity  for  drawing  out  character.  I  .like  to 
play  upon  little  minds,  and  bring  their  humbug  to  the  surface. 
I  sometimes  think  that  I  am  myself  as  great  a  humbug  as  the 
rest.  But  no  matter.  One  must  amuse  himself. 

"  I  shall  be  home  on  the  20th.  You  can  make  your  arrange 
ments  for  the  converzatione,  portrait  gallery  and  all,  accordingly. 
But  pray  don't  invite  anybody  who  is  respectable  except  your 
self,  your  fair  lady,  Miriam,  and  Samuel.  I  feel  a  deep  interest 
in  the  latter,  and  wish  to  show  him  of  what  wretched  stuff 
human  nature  is  made  up. 

"An  you  love  me,  don't  let  that  miserable  bag  of  rubbish — 
Isabella — ensnare  our  favorite.  Turn  her  over  to  her  old  flame? 
Brigham ;  he  is  worthy  of  her.  They  would  make  a  glorious 
pair !  If  they  should  marry  and  be  blessed  with  sons — what  mag 
nificent  scamps  they  would  be ! 

"  We  must  make  up  a  match  between  Samuel  and  Miriam. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  261 

Their  guileless  natures  harmonize  with  and  fit  them  for  each  other. 
I  have  long  contemplated  making  Mirry  my  heir.  If  Samuel 
could  only  be  brought  to  turn  his  eyes  favorably  upon  her — 
and  we  might  work  it,  I  think,  with  your  good  lady's  assistance 
— I  would  not  only  agree  to  leave  her  all  I  should  be  worth 
when  I  die,  but  I  would  put  her  in  possession  of  half  of  my  cash 
and  property  at  once.  She  is  the  only  being  on  earth,  excepting 
Samuel,  who  has  ever  influenced  my  mind  with  pure  thoughts — 
and  pure  thoughts  are  luxuries  worth  paying  for.  When  I  talked 
with  Samuel  in  the  car,  the  same  happy  feeling  came  over  me 
which  I  always  experience  in  my  conversations  with  Miriam. 
What  wonder,  then,  if,  loving  Miriam,  I  should  also  love  Samuel, 
who  possesses,  in  a  yet  bolder,  grander,  and  more  marked 
degree,  the  very  qualities  which  render  her  so  lovable. 

"  Samuel — Miriam  ! 

"How  I  delight  to  repeat  these  words,  to  me  so  full  of  purity 
and  sweetness ! 

"  Say  what  we  will,  think  as  we  may,  partner,  there  is  a  gran 
deur,  an  elevating  power,  a  hallowing  influence,  in  religion,  which 
we  sordid  sons  of  business  know  but  little  of — unhappily.  As 
for  myself,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  when  in  the  presence 
of  little  Miriam,  or  Samuel,  I  experience  a  sense  of  my  own  un- 
worthiness,  my  own  inferiority — more,  I  realize  the  comforting 
blessedness  of  their  purer  thoughts.  It  sanctifies  me  while  I  am 
near  them,  while  I  listen  to  them. 

"  Now,  old  boy,  you,  with  all  your  humbug,  all  your  worldli- 
ness,  must  have  experienced  this  glorious  feeling,  also — because 
you  are  with  them  more,  see  them  more,  hear  them  more,  and 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  their  intimacy  more.  I  almost — nay,  I  do 
— envy  you  these  privileges  ;  for  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  admitted 
to  the  society,  even  for  a  few  moments,  of  the  good. 

"  And  now  tell  me — partner  mine  in  business  humbug  and  in 
iquity — is  not  the  principle,  the  institution  or  whatever  it  may 


262         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

be,  which  is  capable  of  influencing  minds  like  ours  in  that  man 
ner,  of  ridding  us  of  our  grossness  and  elevating  us  to  a  con 
sciousness  of  temporary  purity,  hallowing  us,  as  it  were,  with  the 
luxury  of  goodness,  WORTH  GOING  IN  FOR,  manfully,  hand  and  foot, 
hip  and  thigh,  heart  and  head  ? 

"  I  know  it  requires  courage  to  face  the  thought  of  it,  greater 
to  resolve  upon  it,  and  greater  still  to  do  it.  But,  partner  mine, 
we  are  not  boys,  nor  cowards.  The  pluck  to  think  of  it,  /  have, 
and  to  acknowledge  it,  too ;  but  whether  or  no  I  have  the 
stamina  to  go  through  with  it — to  face  my  Maker  and  tell  Him 
I  am  a  rascal,  but  that  I  repent  and  will  serve  Him,  in  future, 
like  a  MAN — is  another  question.  1  don't  know  that  I  have,  and 
I  cannot  say  but  I  have.  Time  will  decide  it. 

"  But  how  is  it  with  you  ?  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  me 
impertinent,  but  this  I  will  say — it  is  time  you  take  the  subject 
in  hand  !  Whatever  we  may  say  of  it,  whatever  we  may  think 
of  it,  this  trifling  with  the  immortal  part  of  us  is  no  joke!  I 
say  this — /,  Robert  Crittenden — because  I  feel  it ;  and  the  feel 
ing  has  been  growing  on  me  ever  since  my  conversation  with 
Samuel  in  the  cars.  I  cannot  get  over  it.  It  forces  itself  upon 
me,  by  day,  by  night.  It  is  with  me  a  Presence — a  Familiar. 
I  tell  you  this — I,  Robert  Crittenden,  who  have  seen  the  world, 
and  studied  it,  and  scorned  it,  for  six-and-forty  years. 

"  There  is  a  vitalizing  power,  a  hallowing  influence,  an  arous 
ing  spirit — a  stirring  greatness — in  religion.  Believe  it ! 

"  I  saw  a  dealer  to-day.  While  conversing  with  him,  an  ex 
press  wagon  emptied  five  cases  of  goods  at  his  door.  They 
were  opened  in  my  presence,  and  laid  out,  for  shelving,  on  his 
counter.  They  formed  a  goodly  heap.  The  bill  had  arrived 
previously  by  post.  The  goods  were  examined  piece  by  piece, 
and  then  stored  upon  the  shelves.  Every  item  was  found  to  be 
correct,  and  every  item  was  correct.  The  dealer  showed  me  the 
bill — the  goods  had  been  purchased  by  his  partner  of  Samuel — • 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          263 

at  our  house.  I  looked  at  them  as  I  never  looked  at  a  bill  of 
goods  bought  of  our  house  before — with  a  feeling  of  honest 
pride,  of  stirring  satisfaction  ! 

"  That  bill  of  goods  was  an  honest  one !  It  had  been  made 
without  a  single  lie ;  every  piece  in  it  had  been  sold  at  its  honest 
worth.  There  was  no  paltry  fraud,  no  petty  falsehood,  employed 
in  making  it  up.  From  top  to  bottom,  it  was  an  honest  bill,  and 
— it  was  made  at  our  house !  At  our  house,  where  we  neither 
lie  nor  cheat — NOW  ! 

"  Fancy  my  struggle  to  restrain  my  enthusiasm — to  preserve 
my  equanimity. 

"  That,  partner,  was  the  most  glorious  moment  I  ever  experi 
enced  since  I  became  a  merchant.  Ten  years'  profits  could  not 
have  bought  it.  I  felt  like  an  honest  man  ! 

"  John  P.  Townsend — I  say  it  in  all  sympathy  and  kindness — 
have  you  ever  had  that  feeling  1  Of  late,  even  ?  If  not,  you 
cannot  appreciate  its  luxury  ! 

"  Ah  !  partner — we  sordid  money  dogs  of  business,  when  we 
barter  our  Honesty  for  a  paltry  Bill,  give  away  a  GREAT  THING 
for  a  very  small  one !  Believe  it ! 

"  Nor  is  this  all.  These  country  merchants,  whom  we  city 
jobbers  are  so  apt  to  regard  as  flats,  know  us,  understand  us,  ap 
preciate  us  !  They  are  not  the  blind,  silly  moles  we  take  them  to 
be !  Their  eyes  are  sharp,  their  senses  keen.  They  know  us 
through  and  through.  In  backwoods  parlance,  they  can  '  tell  a 
rascal  by  his  smell.1  When  a  drummer  makes  his  appearance 
on  their  thresholds,  they  instinctively  lock  their  tills !  They  eye 
him  suspiciously,  they  listen  to  him  incredulously.  They  under 
stand  the  meaning  of  his  oily  politeness,  of  his  assumed  geni 
ality  ;  and  duly  appreciate  both  them  and  him  at  their  true 
value.  They  know  city  merchants  and  city  drummers,  BETTER 

THAN  CITY    MERCHANTS    OR    CITY    DRUMMERS    KNOW    THEM  !       Light 

your  cigar  with  that — after  riveting  it  in  your  memory. 


264:  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Well,  while  conversing  with  our  friend,  the  dealer,  to-day, 
who  should  come  in,  on  a  drumming  call,  but  Mr.  Wilson,  of  the 
firm  of  Gates  &  Wilson — one  of  our  pretentious  rivals.  You 
know  that  house ;  you  know  its  reputation  for  littleness,  for  lying, 
for  gouging,  for  audacious  humbug.  Well — our  dealer  knew  it, 
too  !  He  had  made  bills  of  it,  formerly,  and  found  it  out,  and — 
remembered  it.  Wilson  came  in  with  his  usual  honeyed  smile. 
One  unused  to  him,  and  creatures  of  his  kind,  would  have  fan 
cied  him  a  shipwrecked  brother,  who  had  escaped  from  the 
Arabs,  or  some  other  murderous  tribe,  for  no  other  object  in 
the  world  than  to  embrace  his  relative,  the  dealer — he  was  so 
very  glad  to  see  him,  and  shook  him  by  the  hand  so  heartily ! 
But^  it  was  of  no  use.  The  dealer  understood  him,  the  dealer  knew 
him — right  straight  through.  He  received  Mr.  Wilson  with 
calm,  unaffected  coolness ;  listened  to  him  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  shook  his  head  with  a  significancy  which  left  the  drumming 
gentleman  without  hope — surveying  him  the  while  with  a  slight 
curl  of  his  upper  lip,  that  betrayed  his  contempt  both  for  the 
luckless  worthy  himself  and  the  house  which  he  represented. 
Mr.  Wilson  then  retired,  to  drum  elsewhere,  with  a  pale  hue 
around  his  lips,  a  mortifying  glow  on  his  cheeks,  a  ray  of  disap 
pointment  in  his  eyes,  and  an  air  not  quite  so  genial  as  that  which 
marked  his  entrance. 

"  This  man  represented  a  mean,  dishonest  house,  and  the  dealer 
knew  it.  That  was  enough. 

"  I  represented  an  honest  house,  and  the  dealer  knew  it,  too. 

"  Mark  the  result : — 

"  Mr.  Wilson  went  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear,  and  the  solemn 
consciousness  of  never  selling  another  bill  to  that  dealer. 

"  Mr.  Crittenden  went  off,  by  invitation,  to  dine  with  the 
dealer,  and  with  the  pleasing  consciousness  that  his  house  would 
make  many  another  bill  with  that  same  country  merchant,  in 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          265 

spite  of  all  the  '  flattering  inducements,'  all  the  oily  drummers, 
and  all  the  tempting  baits  of  other  houses. 

"  Honesty  pays,  old  boy  !  Believe  it !  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 
Country  dealers  appreciate  it,  and  will,  out  of  pure  selfishness, 
if  from  no  nobler  motive,  give  their  trade  only  to  those  houses 
who  practise  it. 

"  Another  instance,  in  evidence.  Two  days  ago  I  called  upon 
a  dealer  in  Schenectady.  He  was  making  up  an  order  when  I 
entered.  When  I  mentioned  my  name  and  the  firm  I  repre 
sented,  he  exclaimed — '  Oh,  yes — that's  the  honest  house  of 
which  neighbor  Miller  has  been  telling  us.  There's  a  young 
man  there,  called  Samuel  Leland — better  known  by  his  given 
than  by  his  surname.  I  intended  to  try  him  with  this,'  and  he 
held  up  the  order  which  he  was  writing  out. 

"  You  received  that  order,  partner,  by  this  morning's  mail — or 
Samuel,  rather,  which  is  the  same  thing. 

"  You  see,  therefore,  how  the  principle  takes,  and  how  it  pays. 
But  enough  on  that  head — you  have  a  discerning  mind. 

"  And  now,  partner  mine,  one  word : 

"  You  and  I  are  reaping  the  harvest  of  another's  goodness,  not 
our  own.  Should  we  not  do  something  to  manifest  our  appre 
ciation  of  that  goodness  1  Say,  by  a  New  Year's  present  of  a 
round  thousand  or  two  to  Samuel,  the  instrument  of  that  good 
ness,  and  by  a  present  of  ourselves  to  the  Divine  Author  of  that 
instrument  1 

"  I  ask  the  first  with  confidence — the  second  with  hope. 

"  Of  one  thing  be  assured :  It  is  time  we  think  this  matter 
over  !  We  are  getting  on  in  years  ;  already  the  silver  is  around 
your  temples,  the  dark  is  thinning  and  falling  away  from  mine. 

"  Let  us  be  MEN.  Let  us  think  aright — let  us  be  brave  and 
earnest — at  least  in  our  latter  days. 

"As  our  lights  go  out  in  the  darkness  of  death,  let  them  go 

12 


266          WHICH  :   THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

©ut  gloriously — like  great  torches,  not  like  small,  mean,  sickly 
lamps. 

"  Come,  old  friend — what  say  you  1  Shall  we  go  up  to  Him 
with  our  thank-offerings,  New  Year's  ? 

"  Samuel — brave,  simple,  true-hearted  Samuel,  will  show  us 
the  way  J 

"  One  word  more.  Do  not  fancy  from  the  foregoing  that  I 
have  given  myself  over  to  the  High  Principle  of  which  I  have 
been  speaking,  and  of  which  Samuel  and  Miriam  are  such  bril 
liant  embodiments.  I  have  not.  But  I  am  thinking  of  it.  You 
will  understand  this  when  1  tell  you  that  I  believe  I  have  reached 
that  intellective  stage  when  the  mind  looks  down  with  contempt 
upon  common  things  as  unworthy  of  it,  and  aspires  to  the  highest 
range  of  human  thought.  That  range,  John,  can  only  be  attained 
by  one  ladder — Religion.  It  leads  to  themes  which  ennoble  the 
intellect,  strengthen  it,  expand  it,  and  endow  it  with  capacity  to 
banquet  on  conceptions  which  are  opulent  with  dignity  and 
grandeur ;  themes  which  enable  the  mind  to  take  broad,  correct, 
comprehensive,  and  comforting  views,  because  they  start  from 
the  right  point ;  themes  which  fill  the  mind  with  stirring  glories, 
the  heart  with  thrilling  raptures  !  Do  you  understand  me,  now  1 
Well,  I  desire  to  reach  the  highest  range,  and  I  propose  to  try  if 
it  can  be  done.  Partner — friend — John  !  I  should  like  your 
company  and  encouragement  in  the  matter !  What  say  you  ? 
It  is  not  Robert  Crittenden  the  merchant  who  asks  this  of  John 
P.  Townsend  the  prince  of  business  men ;  it  is  Robert  Critten- 
den's  SOUL  addressing  John  P.  Townsend's  SOUL.  Friend  and 
partner  of  many  years  !  have  you  the  will,  and  if  so,  the  courage, 
to  unite  with  me  in  the  effort  ? 

"  To  return  again  to  business : 

"  How  does  Brigham  relish  the  religious  turn  which  the  house 
is  taking  ?  It  must  make  him  shake  somewhat  around  the  knees, 
I  fancy — since  he  cannot  but  see  that  it  is  rapidly  doing  away 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  267 

with  the  importance  of  his  *  extensive  commercial  influence.' 
I  never  could  abide  that  man's  teeth  nor  his  airs.  They  sicken 
me.  Let  him  make  one,  however,  of  the  '  gallery.' 

"  This  letter  is  long — too  long,  perhaps.    But  I  could  not  help 
it.     My  heart  had  its  story  to  tell,  as  well  as  my  business. 
"  Yours  affectionately,  and  in  good  health, 

"  ROBERT  CRITTENDEN." 
I 

Mr.  Townsend  read  the  letter  over  carefully,  and  then  put  it 
into  his  pocket.  In  .the  evening  he  handed  it  to  his  wife,  with 
the  brief  remark — 

"A  letter  from  Crittenden,  my  dear !" 

Mrs.  Townsend  perused  it  twice,  in  silence  and  in  thought. 
At  the  end  of  the  second  reading,  she  returned  it  to  her  husband, 
Their  eyes  met  in  the  movement,  and  each  inquired  of  the  other  : 

"  Well — what  do  you  think  ?" 

But  neither  made  answer. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

• 

A  FEW  evenings  later,  as  they  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  Mrs. 
Townsend  observed  that  her  husband's  features  wore  an  uneasy 
air. 

"  Anything  happened  1"  she  inquired,  at  length. 

"  No,  nothing  of  any  great  importance,"  returned  the  mer 
chant,  without  looking  up  from  his  newspaper. 

Mrs.  Townsend  regarded  him  for  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
but  did  not  repeat  her  interrogatory.  Still  she  was  satisfied 
that  something  had  happened ;  but  as  her  husband  did  not,  for 
some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  see  fit  to  mention  the  cause 
of  his  soberness,  she  repressed  her  curiosity,  solacing  herself 
with  the  conviction  that  he  would  impart  the  secret  of  his  own 
accord  in  due  season. 

A  few  evenings  later,  the  merchant  returned  home  with  the 
same  sedate  air.  He  said  but  little  during  the  evening,  but  on 
finding  himself  alone  with  his  wife,  he  observed — 

"  We  have  got  a  dishonest  clerk  in  the  house  !" 

His  wife  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  robbed,"  returned  Mr.  Townsend,  impa 
tiently. 

"  Of  what — goods  or  money  T' 

"  Of  both,  it  may  be,  for  all  1  know ;  bmt  at  present  I  am  only 
certain  of  the  latter." 

"  Whom  do  you  suspect  to  be  the  culprit  f 

"  NQ  one.    But  it  is  some  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  money 

(268) 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          269 

drawer  of  my  desk.  Some  one  who — but,  pshaw  !  What's  the 
use  of  working  one's  self  into  a  passion  1  I'll  have  him,  whoever 
he  is !" 

"  How  much  have  you  lost  ?" 

"  So  far,  seventy  dollars.  A  trifle,  to  be  sure  ;  but  yet  too 
much  to  lose  in  that  manner,  by  exactly  sixty-nine  dollars  and 
one  hundred  cents  !" 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  in  the  habit  of  keeping-  your 
money  in  your  desk." 

"  Nor  am  I.  But  my  drawer  gets  pretty  well  filled  during 
the  day,  before  my  cash  account  is  made  up,  notwithstanding ! 
Last  Tuesday,  when  making  up  my  cash  for  a  deposit,  I  discov 
ered  a  deficiency  of  thirty  dollars.  To-day,  another  of  forty. 
Pleasant— isn't  it?" 

"  Have  you  mentioned  the  matter  to  any  one  ?" 

"  Only  to  Brigham  and  the  book-keeper ;  but  it  will  get  out, 
of  course." 

An  unhappy  incident  occurred  the  following  forenoon  in  the 
packing  department. 

It  was  a  busy  day — right  in  the  height  of  the  business  season — 
and  the  packing-room  resembled  a  bee-hive.  Bill  Bradley  and 
his  assistants  were  driving  away,  as  if  for  dear  life.  The  vast 
basement  floor  groaned  with  packing-boxes — packing-boxes 
empty,  packing-boxes  filled,  the  latter  marked  and  strapped 
(ang lice,  hooped),. and  ready  for  shipment.  On  a  long  table 
might  be  seen,  at  various  distances  from  each  other,  heaps  of 
miscellaneous  goods — each  heap  being  an  "  order" — all  waiting 
their  turn  for  the  packer,  Bill  Bradley  himself,  who  made  short 
work  with  a  pile  the  moment  he  approached  it.  In  fact,  the 
worthy  packer  had  a  genius  for  his  business.  He  worked  'by 
system.  His  assistants  laid  out  the  orders — Bill  Bradley  him 
self  packed  them.  The  orders,  large  or  small,  as  they  might  be, 
were  laid  in  piles  upon  the  sides  of  the  long  broad  table,  which, 


270          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

by  the  recent  pressure  of  business,  was  continually  -kept  full. 
Then  stepping  up  with  a  box,  or  boxes,  if  the  order  demanded 
more  than  one,  the  gallant  packer,  his  sleeves  rolled  up  and  his 
sinewy  arms  yearning  for  action,  commenced  making  the  tour 
of  the  table.  It  was  a  sight.  The  piles  disappeared,  one  after 
another,  like  magic.  Here  is  a  great  big  heap,  variously  made 
up  of  cloths,  de  laines,  flannels,  cottons,  silks,  and  prints  of  every 
hue.  Bill  Bradley  approaches  it,  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror, 
measures  it  with  his  keen,  experienced  eye,  and  cries  out  to  the 
youth  who  supplies  him  with  boxes,  "  Five  cases,  No.  3,"  and 
in  another  minute  they  are  beside  him.  Now  look  at  that  order, 
and  then  glance  in  another  direction  for  a  few  minutes.  Now 
turn  your  head  again,  and  look  for  that  great  big  heap  of 
goods.  You  see — what  1  A  vacant  space.  The  pile  is  broken 
up,  packed,  and  lying  snug  and  dry  in  those  five  cases  which  Bill 
Bradley  is  rapidly  marking  with  a  long  slender  brush  thus — 

SMITH  &  CO., 
Via  John  Jones,  ABBEVILLE, 

Charleston,  S.C.  S.  C. 


And  the  goods  are  ready  for  shipment. 

"  Here,  John" — John  is  a  porter — "  hoist  these  up,  and  tell 
Billins — "  Billings  is  the  cartraan  of  the  house  of  J3hn  P. 
Townsend — "  to  hurry  'em  down  to  the  steamer  right  away. 
Quick.  It's  now  ten  o'clock,  and  she  sails  at  twelve.  Hurry  !" 

And  the  all-conquering  packer  moves  on  to  the  next  order,  which, 
being  somewhat  smaller  than  the  other,  disappears  in  a  little 
less  than  no  time ;  and  then  on  to  another,  which  is  a  great  deal 
larger.  Bill  surveys  it  for  an  instant  with  a  sharp,  calculating 
eye.  There  are  three  long  rolls  of  oil-cloth  in  the  pile.  They 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  271 

were  bought  elsewhere  by  the  owner  of  the  heap,  and  ordered 
to  be  sent  into  John  P.  Townsend's  for  packing  with  his  other 
goods.  The  rolls  were  long,  and  required  a  large-sized  box, 
which  might  be  made  to  take  in  the  whole  pile.  This  the  packer 
concluded  at  once  to  do.  A  case  of  the.  necessary  size  was  picked 
out,  and  in  ten  minutes  it  was  filled,  topped,  strapped  and 
marked,  and  the  packer  moved  on  to  the  next  heap,  exclaiming — 

"  John — Bill,  take  this  case  ter  the  hoist-way,  get  it  up  on  the 
walk,  and  tell  Billins  ter  rush  it  down  ter  the  Sea  Queen,  foot 
of  Maiden  Lane.  She  sails  at  three,  and  don't  take  freight  after 
twelve.  Hurry !" 

But  John  and  Bill,  though  stout  fellows  both,  wer©  not  equal 
to  the  task.  The  box  was  too  weighty.  It  mocked  all  their 
efforts  to  raise  it,  and  they  called  upon  the  vigorous  packer  for 
help. 

The  latter  met  their  request  cheerfully.  Once  upon  its  "  feet," 
it  would  be  comparatively  easy  to  work  th*  case  in  any 
direction. 

'  The  stalwart  packer  had  it  in  the  desired  position  in  an  instant. 
Then  bidding  the  others  to  steady  it  while  he  gave  it  its  impul 
sion,  he  attempted,  with  a  dexterous,  energetic,  half-jerking,  half- 
oscillating  movement,  to  urge  the  case  towards  the  hoist-way. 
While  thus  engaged,  one  of  his  companions  incautiously  missed 
his  hold.  In  an  effort  to  recover  it,  he  inadvertently  pressed 
against  the  box  while  it  was  in  motion.  All  saw  the  error,  but 
not  in  season  to  avert  its  consequences.  The  untimely  pressure 
deprived  the  case  of  its  equilibrium,  and  urged  it  forward  upon 
the  manly  packer,  whom  it  forced  before  it  to  the  floor,  burying 
him  beneath  its  ponderous  weight. 

The  poor  fellow  uttered  a  loud,  gurgling,  agonizing  scream, 
which  resounded  throughout  the  building,  and  fainted. 

The  startled  clerks,  followed  by  their  no  less  startled  custom 
ers,  poured  confusedly  and  throngingly  down  the  broad  stairway 


272          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

— twenty  hands  removed  the  weighty  case,  and  lifted  the  bruised, 
bleeding,  and  senseless  packer  from  the  floor  to  his  old,  familiar 
table.  The  stoutest-hearted  of  the  crowd  shuddered  as  they  looked 
upon  him.  His  clothes  were  rent,  his  lirnbs  frightfully  bruised, 
and  his  great,  manly  chest  flattened,  as  if  every  bone  had  been 
crushed  to  powder.  The  livid  paleness  of  his  face  was  intensified 
by  a  crimson  gush  around  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  through  which 
the  falling  case  had  forced  the  blood  in  a  fierce,  sudden  dash. 

When  the  packer  returned  to  consciousness,  he  found  himself 
lying  upon  a  narrow  but  comfortable  bed,  in  a  long,  wide 
room,  with  a  range  of  beds  on  either  side — all,  or  nearly  all, 
occupied  by  pale,  wasted  beings,  in  various  stages  of  physical 
suffering.  Here  and  there  were  nurses  ministering  to  their 
charges  :  one  rendering  a  pillow  easier  ;  another  changing  a 
bandage  ;  a  third  feeding  a  tall,  emaciated  patient,  who  was  sit 
ting  up  and  leaning  for  support  against  the  head -board  of  his  bed, 
his  weak,  nerveless  arms  hanging  helpless  from  his  shoulders, 
and  himself  with  scarcely  strength  enough  to  open  his  lips  to 
receive  the  refreshing  broth  which  the  attendant  was  giving  to 
him,  as  if  he  were  a  little  child. 

The  packer  comprehended  his  situation  in  an  instant :  he  was 
in  the  New  York  Hospital.  -j^.  (| 

He  tried  to  turn  himself  in  his  bed  ;  but  he  discovered,  to  his 
utter  amazement,  that  his  will  had  no  control  over  his  body. 
He  could  not  stir  a  hair's  breadth.  He  was  conscious,  but  be 
could  scarcely  be  said  to  be  alive.  He  had  not  even  a  sensation 
of  feeling  left.  He  made  an  effort  to  collect  his  thoughts,  but  in 
vain.  The  more  he  tried  to  reflect,  the  more  confused  he  be 
came.  His  head  fell  listlessly  on  one  side,  and  remained  so  from 
utter  inability  to  return  :  on  perceiving  which,  a  nurse  approached, 
and  raising  it  gently,  propped  it  with  pillows  to  retain  it  in  its 
proper  position.  The  packer's  consciousness  glided  off  into  a 
soft,  quiet  slumber. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  273 

When  he  awoke  again,  he  was  still  in  a  low  stage  of  feeble 
ness.  He  was  conscious,  nevertheless,  of  a  certain  measure  of 
strength. 

A  surgeon  approached,  and  surveyed  him  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Sore,"  answered  the  packer. 

"  Good  !  Feeling  has  returned  to  him  !"  mused  the  surgeon. 
"  The  crisis  is  over.  He  will  live." 

And  with  these  thoughts  the  surgeon  moved  away  to  another 
patient,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  ward. 

The  packer  tried  to  think,  and  he  succeeded ;  he  then  made 
an  effort  to  arrange  his  thoughts,  in  which  he  was  equally  suc 
cessful. 

A  nurse  drew  near.  She  had  a  mild,  pleasant,  motherly 
appearance. 

"  How  are  you  now  V  she  inquired,  sitting  down  beside  the  bed. 

"  Sore — sore  all  over,"  replied  the  packer. 

"  That  is  a  good  sign,"  remarked  the  nurse,  encouragingly. 

"  Good  !"  said  the  packer,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  nurse.  "  But,"  she  added, "  you  mustn't 
talk.  The  doctor  won't  allow  it.  It  will  weaken  you." 

"  Stay,"  said  the  packer,  as  she  was  stepping  away.  "  Only 
a  few  words.  They  will  ease  my  mind.  Do." 

"  In  that  case,  I  will  humor  you,"  said  the  nurse,  resuming  her 
seat.  "  But  remember — only  two  minutes,"  and  she  took  out 
her  watch  and  noted  the  time. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here  V  asked  the  packer. 

"  Ten  days." 

"  Crazy,  any  T 

"  A  little." 

"  Any  one  been  to  see  me  1" 

12* 


274          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Yes — your  mother,  and  a  young  gentleman  by  the  name  of 
Leland." 

"  How  often  ?" 

"  Your  mother  every  other  day,  Mr.  Leland  every  day.  A 
good  man,  I  think — a  Christian  ?" 

"A  real  one  !"  said  the  packer.     "  Yer  orter  know  him  !" 

The  packer  paused.  His  breathings  were  feeble.  The  nurse 
observed  him  with  an  air  of  increased  interest. 

"  Your  two  minutes  are  nearly  up,"  she  said.  "  You  had  bet 
ter  give  over." 

"  One  word  more,"  said  the  packer,  earnestly.  "  Poor  mother 
must  be  very  lonely.  She  has  no  one  to  talk  to  her — no  one  ter 
care  for  her,  but  me.  And  I — I'm  down  /" 

"  Be  comforted.  Mr.  Leland  appears  to  be  very  good  to  her," 
said  the  nurse,  in  a  soothing  tone.  "  He  always  comes  with  her, 
and  always  takes  her  away.  He  is  more  like  a  son  to  her  than 
a  stranger." 

"  He  is  ?"  cried  the  packer,  with  an  air  of  mingled  gratitude 
and  joy.  "  God  bless  him  !"  he  added,  energetically  ;  "  God  bless 
him !" 

"  Time  is  up !"  remarked  the  nurse,  and  she  quietly  moved 
away. 

The  packer  looked  after  her  a  few  moments,  and  then  com 
posed  his  thoughts.  Three  minutes  later,  his  senses  we.re  wrap 
ped  in  a  soft  sleep. 

The  surgeon  and  nurse  returned.  The  former  bent  his  ear 
towards  the  patient's  head,  and  listened. 

"  He  breathes  well,"  he  observed,  rising.     "  He  will  mend." 

And  they  left  the  packer  to  his  dreams. 

When  the  young  man  awoke,  on  the  following  day,  he  found 
a  visitor  on  either  side  of  his  bed.  On  his  left,  seated  on  a 
chair,  was  a  venerable  and  familiar  female  form,  in  black,  her 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          275 

hat  on,  as  if  she  had  but  recently  come  in.  It  was  Mrs.  Osborn, 
his  adopted  mother.  She  had  a  mild,  matronly  face,  with  an 
expression  of  rare  gentleness  and  benignity.  As  the  packer 
looked  up  at  her,  his  eye  detected  a  tear  upon  her  cheek,  and 
his  ear  caught  the  dying  cadence  of  a  sigh. 

On  his  right  was  another  face,  fresher,  younger — fairer,  full  of 
majestic  beauty,  and  significant  of  unusual  sweetness,  gentleness, 
and  serenity.  From  beneath  the  pale,  thoughtful  brow,  looked 
two  clear,  dark  eyes,  beaming  with  tenderness  and  benevolence. 

The  packer  glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other  with  an  air  of 
mixed  gratitude  and  pleasure. 

"  Mother — Samuel !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  thank  yer  for  this 
visit.  Shake  hands !" 

With  these  words,  he  attempted  to  raise  his  arms  from  the 
coverlet,  but  the  effort  was  followed  by  a  sensation  of  pain  so 
exquisitely  excruciating  that  it  forced  from  him  a  suffering  cry. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  lady,  sobbing,  "  you  mustn't  stir. 
The  doctor  says  so." 

"  It  is  true,  Bill,"  said  Samuel.  "  We  shall  not  be  permitted 
to  see  you,  if  it  is  found  that  our  presence  disturbs  you." 

"  I'll  be  more  careful,"  returned  the  packer.  "  Kiss  me> 
mother." 

Mrs.  Osborn  bent  over  him,  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  fore 
head  with  touching  delicacy,  as  if  she  feared  that  even  her  breath 
might  hurt  him. 

It  was  evident  to  Samuel  that  these  two  humble  spirits  were 
united  by  the  holiest  of  all  human  bonds — sincere  affection. 

As  the  old  lady  resumed  her  seat,  a  cloud  of  anxiety  darkened 
the  poor  packer's  features. 

"  You  are  in  great  pain,  Bill  V  observed  Samuel. 

"In  mind  and  body,"  returned  the  packer.  "I'm  hurt — I 
know  that.  I'm  hurt  badly.  Yer  can  see  it,  and  there  aint  no 
use  in  my  denyin'  it." 


276          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  No  use  at  all,  Bill,"  returned  Samuel,  kindly.  "  It  would 
neither  deceive  us  nor  youself." 

"  Just  so,"  returned  the  packer.  "  And  besides,  I  don't  want 
ter  lie ;  it's  agin  my  principles.  I  always  like  the  honess  truth — 
it  makes  a  feller  feel  better." 

"  It  is  a  good  principle,  Bill.     Stick  to  it." 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  me,  Samuel.  Yer  see,  it's  in  me — truth- 
is.  It's  in  my  jints.  I  couldn't  lie,  no  how — not  even  if  I  wanted 
ter.  And  that's  what  troubles  me  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Bill  T 

"  Mother — "  suggested  the  packer 

"  What- is  it,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Osborn. 

"  Yer  will  grieve  over  my  trouble  so,"  said  the  packer. 
'  Yer'll  keep  thinkin'  that  I  am  suffer  in'  so  much — which  is 
true.  There's  no  mistake  about  it.  It's  true.  But — " 

"But  what,  dear?" 

"  Yer'll  keep  thinking  of  it,  mother,  when  you  oughtn't  ter. 
Distressin'  yourself,  and  breakin'  yOur  heart,  about  me.  I  know 
yer.  You'll  keep  thinkin'  of  me  !" 

The  poor  old  soul  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief 
and  sobbed. 

"  And  don't  you  want  her  to  think  of  you,  Bill  ?"  asked 
Samuel. 

"  No,"  returned  the  packer.  "  That  is,  y-e-s.  I  want  her 
ter  think  of  me — of  course ;  but  not  of  my  trouble.  Coax  her 
not  ter — won't  yer,  Samuel  ?" 

"My  dear  boy  !"  sobbed  the  old  creature. 

"  There,"  said  the  packer,  "  there  yer  are  !  Didn't  I  say  so  1 
Yer'll  keep  goin'  on  that  way  !  Now  if  yer  wouldn't,  mother — if 
yer  wouldn't !  You  see,  mother,  there's  yer  own  trouble — the 
pallysis — yer'll  aggravate  that.  And  then  what'll  become  of 
yer  1  Don't  yer  see  ?" 

"  Noble  heart !"  murmured  Samuel. 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          277 

"  Now,  mother,"  continued  the  packer,  tenderly,  "  if  yer 
would  only  promise  not  ter  think  too  much  of  me,  and  more  of 
yerself — I  think  I  could  get  along  better.  I'm  a  man,  yer 
know — a  strong  feller,  too — and  I  can  get  through,  and  be  up 
in  no  time  ;  because  there's  a  big  foundation  for  my  trouble  to 
spread  itself  on.  I'm  young,  full  of  vigor,  and  all  that;  and 
when  the  pains  come  along,  I  can  stand  'em  firse  rate.  But  it 
aint  so  with  you,  mother.  You're  old  and  feeble ;  you've  got  the 
pallysis  and  the  roomatics — the  roomatics  some,  but  the  pallysis 
bad.  Now,  if  yer'd  only  think  of  yerself  a  good  deal,  an'  a 
little  of  me — say  just  enough  to  keep  the  old  feelin'  alive — I'd 
be  satisfied,  and  I'd  bear  up  tip  top — I  know  I  would  !" 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  know  I  must  think  of  you.  I  can't 
help  it !" 

"  That's  it,"  returned  Bill,  sorrowfully.  "  I  know  yer  can't  help 
it,  mother — 'cause  yer've  got  a  great  heart.  But  if  yer'd  only 
promise  me,  before  Samuel,  here,  not  ter  think  too  much  of  me 
I'd  get  through  quicker.  There's  so  many  things  that  yer  can 
do,  yer  know,  when  yer  find  yerself  givin'  way  too  much  about 
me.  Yer  can  go  and  see  some  of  the  neighbors — Mrs.  Weeks, 
for  ins'ance,  she's  a  nice  woman — yer  can  go  and  talk  with  her  ; 
and  then  there's  Mrs.  Ellis,  who  lives  up  stairs — she'd  be  very 
glad  if  yer  would  only  go  and  talk  with  her,  once  in  a  while. 
She's  told  me  so — often.  She  likes  you,  firse  rate.  And  then 
you  can  read — and  then  you  can  sing;  and  then  read  again. 
There's  all  them  things  yer  can  do,  to  keep  from  thinkin'  too 
much  of  me.  Don't  yer  see,  mother— don't  yer  see  T 

Samuel  reflected.     An  idea  struck  him. 

"  Now,  mother,"  continued  the  packer,  coaxingly,  "  if  yer  think 
too  much  of  me,  yer'll  forget  all  about  yerself;  and  yer'll  get 
thin,  and  weak,  and  wan,  and  unable  to  attend  to  yer  pallysis  and 
roomatics.  Then  what'll  become  on  yer  ?  And  when  I'm  all 


278          WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

right  agin,  and  go  home  to  see  yer,  there'll  be  no  mother  for 
poor  Bill  any  more  !" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  don't  talk  so !     You'll  kill  me  !" 

"If  you  would  only  promise  me  ter  take  care  of  yerself, 
mother,"  said  Bill.  "  But  yer  won't !" 

"  Oh,  I  will,  my  dear  boy — I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Osborn.  "  I  will 
take  great  care  of  myself.  Yes,  I  will!" 

"  But  yer'll  get  so  lonely  sometimes,  mother,"  said  Bill. 
"  Yer'll  let  yerself  get  lonely,  a  purpose  !" 

"  No,  my  dear  boy — I  won't.  I'll  make  myself  comfortable 
— very  comfortable — and — and — happy." 

"  But  yer  won't  go  and  see  Mrs.  Ellis  and  Mrs.  Brown  ;  or  if 
yer  do,  yer'll  keep  talkin'  and  thinkin'  of  me,  all  the  time !" 

"  No,  I  won't,  Bill,  dear— not  all  the  time  !" 

"  But  yer  won't  go  and  see  'em  every  day  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will,  my  dear  boy — if  you  wish  it." 

"  I  do  wish  it,  mother !" 

"  I'll  do  it,  then,  Bill— yes,  I  will !" 

"  And  take  great  care  of  yerself — very  great  care  f 

"  Very  great  care,  Bill.     I  promise  it !" 

An  air  of  triumph — of  joy — illumined  the  pale  features  of 
the  tender-hearted  packer. 

"  Kiss  me  again,  mother !"  he  said,  falteringly. 

Their  lips  met,  and  the  tears  of  the  poor  old  creature  bedewed 
the  cheeks  of  her  loved  and  loving  boy. 

The  latter,  however,  restrained  the  flood  which  was  struggling 
to  burst  through  his  eyes,  lest  the  object  of  his  solicitude  should 
impute  it  to  his  physical  suffering. 

At  this  moment,  a  physician  approached. 

"  You  must  leave  my  patient  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "  He 
requires  repose." 

The  old  lady  bowed,  and  rose.   Samuel  followed  her  exam- 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          279 

pie,  and  bidding  the  poor  packer  good-bye,  they  took  their  de 
parture. 

On  reaching  the  street,  Samuel  called  a  cab,  and  after  settling 
the  fare,  he  shook  Mrs.  Osborn  by  the  hand,  bade  her  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  promising  to  see  her  again  ere  long,  he  returned  to 
the  store,  where  he  arrived  just  in  time  to  meet  a  customer, 
who,  like  the  majority  of  his  customers,  had  come  to  him  because 
he  had  heard  of  him. 

In  the  evening,  Samuel  posted  to  Mrs.  Farley's.  As  he  as 
cended  the  dark  staircase,  he  caught  the  last  stanza  of  a  familiar 
hymn : — 

"  Sweetly  may  we  all  agree, 
Touched  with  softest  sympathy , 
Kindly  for  each  other  care, 
Every  member  feel  its  share. 

Dum — dum — dum. 
Many  are  we  now,  and  one, 
We  who  Jesus  have  put  on : 
Names,  and  sects,  and  parties  fall-r 
Thou,  0  Christ,  art  all  in  all !" 

Dum — dum — dum. 

"  She  is  ironing !"  thought  Samuel,  as  he  heard  the  peculiar 
accompaniment.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  the  laundress 
appeared.  Upon  recognizing  her  visitor,  she  received  him  with 
her  usual  genial  warmth. 

The  laundress  entertained  for  Samuel  a  peculiar  affection  : 
the  affection  that  one  pure,  artless  spirit  has  for  another,  whom 
it  knows  to  be  equally  as  guileless  as  itself,  and  serving  the  same 
High  Interest. 

The  young  man  guessed  aright :  his  fair  friend  was  ironing. 
He  took  a  seat  beside  the  table,  and  while  she  pursued  her  work, 
he  related  the  details  of  the  accident  at  the  store,  and  of  the 
interview  at  the  hospital. 


280          WHICH  :  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  laundress  listened  to  his  narrative  with  marked  interest. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Samuel,  in  conclusion,  "  to 
the  object  of  my  visit." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  laundress,  encouragingly,  for  she  understood 
the  nature  of  the  noble  heart  before  her  too  well  not  to  suspect 
what  would  follow;  "goon." 

"  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  said  Samuel.  "  Bill  is  a  good 
young  man,  and  we  ought  to  do  something  for  him." 

"  True,"  said  the  laundress ;  "  and  I  would  be  glad  to  perform 
my  share." 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Farley,  you  make  me  very  happy !  I  expected 
no  less  of  you,  for  you  are  one  of  ws." 

The  laundress  bowed  smilingly,  and  Samuel  continued : 

"  It  struck  me,  while  at  the  poor  fellow's  bedside  this  after 
noon,  that  if  we  could  only  make  him  easy  about  the  loneliness 
of  his  dear  mother,  that  it  would  relieve  him  very  much.  Then 
I  thought  of  you,  as  one  who  would  willingly  join  me  in  an 
effort  to  secure  him  that  relief;  and  so  I  have  come  to  ask  if 
you  will  kindly  let  the  dear  old  lady  reside  with  you  until  Bill 
shall  get  well  ?"  • 

"  Cheerfully — gladly,"  returned  the  laundress. 

"  Ah  !  madam,  you  make  me  very  happy  !  It  will  be  so  con 
soling  to  Bill  to  know  that  his  mother  is  not  left  alone,  because 
calamity  has  stepped  in  between  them  for  a  time — to  know  that 
she  is  with  one  who  understands  her  kind,  pious  heart,  and  will 
cheer  her  and  be  near  her  in  case  of  trouble." 

"  So  it  will !"  said  the  laundress. 

"  And  then  it  will  be  so  pleasant  for  the  old  lady  herself," 
continued  Samuel,  "  to  have  the  company  of  one  who  can  sym 
pathize  with  her,  talk  with  her,  and  pray  with  her." 

"  True,  again  !"  observed  the  laundress.  "  And  .1  will  do  all 
I  can  to  lighten  her  affliction." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Farley,  you  make  me  very  happy !     I  will  step 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          281 

in  at  the  hospital  to-morrow  morning,  and  tell  Bill  all  about  it. 
The  knowledge  will  make  his  mind  easy  for  the  day,  and  enable 
him  to  bear  his  physical  sufferings  with  resignation.  In  the 
evening  I  will  call  on  Mrs.  Osborn  herself,  and  explain  it  all 
over,  and  if  she  consents — as  I  think  she  will,  when  I  tell  her 
that  you  are  one  of  us — I  will  bring  her  here  at  once.  And 
thus  we  shall  save  the  poor  lady  from  at  least  one  night  of  lone 
liness  and  grief." 

"  Dear — dear !"  exclaimed  the  simple-hearted  laundress,  "  that 
will  be  something  for  the  good  soul !" 

u  So  it  will,  Mrs.  Farley.     And  now,  let  us  see  about  her 
support." 

"  Oh,  I  will  attend  to  all  that,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  laundress. 
"  No,  it  would  be  unfair,"  returned  Samuel.  "  Because  I  want 
to  do  something.  Let  us  see.  Suppose  you  give  her  your  so 
ciety,  your  sympathy,  and  your  attention — and  let  me  have  the 
privilege  of  paying  for  her  board  ?  That  wrould  make  it  about 
even,  and  render  it  more  satisfactory  to  our  venerable  friend 
herself,  who  would  scarcely  consent  to  owe  everything  to  either 
one  of  us.  Will  that  do,  Mrs.  Farley  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — since  you  wish  it,"  replied  the  latter. 
"  Ah !  madam,  you  make  me  very  happy.     And  now  let  us 
come  to  the  amount.     Say  four  dollars  a  week  ?" 
"  Oh,  no,"  returned  the  laundress,  energetically. 
"  Six,  then  1"  continued  Samuel. 

"  No,  not  half,  not  a  quarter  of  it.     Why,  how  you  run  on  !" 
"  A  third  of  six,"  said  Samuel,  "  would  only  be  two  dollars. 
The  lady  could  not  live  on  that !" 

"  Oh,  yes,  easily,"  said  the  laundress,  "  and  on  less  too. 
Why  it  costs  me  but  four  dollars  and  a  half  per  week,  rent  and 
all." 

"  But  our  friend  is  old,"  suggested  Samuel,  "  and  the  aged 
want  their  little  comforts.  A  cup  of  good  nice  tea  now  and 


282         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

then ;  a  dish  of  chicken  broth,  too,  and  other  things  of  which  I 
know  but  little,  but  all  of  which  they  know  and  like.  Say  two 
dollars  for  the  board,  and  a  dollar  for  the  comforts,  Mrs.  Far 
ley  r 

The  laundress  consented  at  length  to  this,  and  Samuel  shortly- 
after  took  his  leave,  congratulating  himself,  on  his  way  home, 
upon  an  acquaintance  with  one  who  was  so  willing  to  lend  a 
helping  hand  to  the  afflicted. 

Of  his  own  goodness,  the  young  Christian  never  thought  at 
all. 

The  packer  awoke  the  following  morning  in  great  pain.  His 
strength,  however,  had  materially  increased.  His  mind  was 
clear,  and  moderately  firm.  He  was  conscious  of  his  improve 
ment  ;  but  he  was  impressed  also  with  the  conviction  that  a  long 
siege  of  suffering  lay  before  him.  Between  his  present  condition 
and  his  return  to  health,  he  beheld  with  his  mental  eye  a  dread 
ful  interval.  During  that  interval,  what  would  become  of  his 
adopted  parent  1  Relying  ever  upon  his  industry,  he  had  saved 
none  of  his  earnings.  Anticipating  no  evil  day,  he  had  made 
no  provision  for  it ;  and  now,  in  his  hour  of  trouble,  to  whom 
could  .his  parent  look  for  support  ?  What  would  become  of 
her  ]  Who  would  care  for  her  ? 

The  packer  groaned.  Cold  beads  of  sweat  appeared  upon  his 
emaciated  brow. 

"  Oh !  if  I  had  but  thought  of  this  before !"  he  murmured,  in 
deep  anguish.  "  If  I  had  but  considered  it  in  time  !  Mother — 
dear  mother — what  will  become  of  yer  r{  What  orter  become  of 
me  for  bringin'  yer  to  this  position  !" 

The  poor  fellow  would  have  marched  up  to  the  stake  at  that 
moment  if,  by  so  doing,  he  could  have  rectified  his  error. 

Another  idea  struck  him.  He  was  in  the  New  York  Hospi 
tal,  an  institution  which  expects  three  dollars  per  week  from 
each  of  its  patients.  It  is  true  the  latter  are  not  disturbed  if 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          283 

they  do  not  pay ;  still  it  is  expected  by  the  institution  that  each 
patient's  bill  will  be  paid,  either  by  the  patient  himself  or  by 
his  friends.  Three  dollars  per  week  is  a  pitiful  sum  for  board, 
nursing,  and  the  best  of  medical  attendance  ;  but  small  though 
it  be,  it  is  a  world  of  money  to  him  who  has  it  not.  But  this 
was  not  all.  The  packer  was  conscious  that  he  received  extra 
attentions,  extra  delicacies,  extra  medical  care  ;  and  his  good 
sense  told  him  that  those  extras  were  charged  as  such — that,  in 
fine,  they  were  added  to  the  three  dollars  per  week.  His  good 
sense  also  told  him  that  extras  were  never  furnished  unless  they 
were  specially  ordered.  Who  ordered  them  !  The  packer  him 
self  did  not.  Some  one  must  have  done  it  for  him.  But  who 
was  that  some  one  1  His  friend,  of  course  !  But  who  was  his 
friend  ?  The  person  who  had  introduced  him  to  the  Hospital. 
But  who  was  that  person  1  His  mother  ?  She  had  no  money  ; 
moreover,  she  was  dependent  for  her  support  upon  himself. 
Some  relative?  Save  his  adopted  parent,  he  had  none.  His 
employer  ?  Mr.  Townsend  was  only  generous  to  those  who 
could  be  serviceable  to  him.  Who,  then,  was  his  unknown 
friend  1 

"  Well,"  muttered  the  packer,  "  no  matter.  It's  somebody. 
That's  sure.  But  what  does  it  prove  1  Simply  this— that  I, 
Bill  Bradley — a  hale,  hearty  feller  of  twenty-five — who  have 
always  bad  plenty  of  work  and  good  wages — am  now,  in  the 
hour  of  trouble,  a  dependent  on  another's  charity  !  Well,  that's 
pooty — that  is !  and  poor  mother,  too,  that  I've  allers  pretended 
to  care  so  much  for !  If  I  hadn't  sense  enough  to  lay  by  some'n 
for  myself,  couldn't  I  have  cared  a  little  for  her  ?  Won't,"  he 
added,  forgetful  of  his  situation,  and  talking  aloud,  "  won't  some 
body  come  and  give  me  a  whalin'  ?  I  orter  be  laid  out,  right 
and  left.  Ugh !  I'm  a  dorg — a  fifer — a  thing  !  Only  let  me 
get  over  this,  once — that's  all !" 


284          WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT   on  THE  LEFT. 


"You  are  disturbed  f  remarked  a  voice  near  him.  It  was 
that  of  the  nurse,  who  supposed  him  to  be  raving. 

"  I  am  suffering,"  returned  the  packer.  "  One  word  :  Who 
pays  for  my  support  here  ?" 

"  I'm  not  at  liberty  to  say,"  answered  the  nurse. 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  nurses  are  not  presumed  to  know  anything  about 
such  matters." 

"  I  s'pose  so.  But  yer  can  tell  me  why  I  am  tended  to  so 
carefully,  can't  yer?  The  other  fellers  in  the  ward  are  not 
looked  after  as  I  am." 

"  What  then  ? 

"  A  great  deal.  •  Somebody  mus.t  have  ordered  it,  or  it 
wouldn't  be  so,  would  it  ?" 

"  That  is  true." 

"There  —  I  thought  so.     Now,  who  did  order  itf 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?"  inquired  the  nurse,  surveying  him  at 
tentively. 

"  For  satisfaction,"  returned  the  packer.  "  Here's  a  big  bill 
running  up  agin  somebody  on  my  account,  and  I  wanter  know 
who  it  is.  Come,  tell  a  feller,  won't  yer  ?  I'll  take  it  as  a 
favor  !" 

"  What  good  will  the  knowledge  do  you  V  asked  the  nurse. 

"  It'll  make  a  feller  feel  better  —  make  me  get  well  sooner." 

"  In  that  case,  I  presume  I  am  at  liberty  to  speak.  Your 
friend  is  Mr.  Leland." 

"  What—  Samuel  ?"  cried  the  packer.  "  Well  !  if  I  didn't  sus^ 
pect  it  !  Samuel  1  Well  —  there  !  That  takes  me  down  !  And 
yet,  why  should  I  be  surprised?  It's  just  like  him  !" 

"  Who  is  Samuel  —  Mr.  Leland,  I  mean  '?"  asked  the  nurse. 

"  What  ?  Yer  don't  know  our  Samuel  1  Well  —  that's 
pooty  —  that  is  !  I  thought  everybody  know'd  him." 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          285 

"Are  you  able  to  tell  me  about  him  ?"  asked  the  nurse. 

"Able?  Yes,  and  willin',  too.  It  does  me  good  to  think 
of  him.  It's  better  than  medicine,  or  bandages,  to  see  him,  and 
talk  of  him.  Listen." 

And  the  packer  related  Samuel's  career,  from  the  hour  of  his 
entrance  into  "  the  house"  until  the  day  of  the  accident,  as  we 
have  detailed  it  to  the  reader.  How  good  he  was,  how  manly, 
how  benevolent,  how  gentle,  unpretending,  earnest,  and  upright. 
How  he  was  loved  in  the  "  house ;"  what  changes  he  had  wrought 
in  its  business,  and  in  the  minds  and  habits  of  its  people ;  of  the 
religious  meetings  in  the  packing-room — of  the  tours  among  the 
poor  ;  how  many  of  the  clerks  had  abandoned  forever  their  pre 
vious  vicious  courses,  and  become  good,  manly-hearted,  and 
manly-minded  men — each  of  them  exerting  in  their  turn  upon 
their  friends,  in  greater  or  lesser  degree,  the  same  ennobling 
influences  which  Samuel  had  exerted  upon  them  ;  and  how  these 
purifying  influences  were  spreading,  and  deepening,  and  extend 
ing  more  and  more — leading  numbers,  of  rich  and  poor,  from 
fraud  to  honesty,  from  falsehood  to  truth,  and  from  fashionable 
to  genuine  religion.  How  he  did  all  this  in  his  simple,  earnest, 
unpretending  way — without  noise,  ostentation,  or  parade.  How 
men  spoke  of  him  as  of  one  among  ten  thousand ;  and  how  they 
said  of  him,  that  he  presented,  in  his  own  person,  a  pleasing  and 
impressive  illustration  of  the  wide  and  amazing  moral  influence 
which  a  single  TRUE  Christian  is  capable  of  exerting  when  he 
sets  himself  about  it  in  EARNEST,  like  a  Christian !  And  how  it 
was  remarked  of  him  that  whenever  he  talked  with  a  person, 
that  person  always  felt  better  after  the  conversation  than  before  ; 
that  he  never  called  upon  a  person  without  leaving  a  smile  in 
the  heart  of  that  person  when  he  took  his  departure ;  that  the 
cheering  influence  of  his  presence  was  always  felt  and  acknowl 
edged  wherever  he  went;  that  he  never  opened  his  lips  to  say 


286  WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

a  bitter  or  ungenerous  thing ;  and  that  whenever  he  spoke,  all 
around  him  were  glad  that  he  had  spoken. 

The  nurse  reflected. 

"  There  he  is  now,"  said  Bill  Bradley,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
concluded. 

The  nurse  turned  around  and  looked  at  Samuel,  who  had  just 
entered  the  ward,  and  was  advancing,  with  a  smiling  face  and  a 
springy  step,  towards  the  packer. 

"Good-morning,  madam,"  he  said,  bowing ;  "good-morning, 
Bill.  You  are  improving.  What  think  you,  madam — our  friend, 
here,  will  soon  be  able  to  thank  his  surgeon  for  his  kindly  skill, 
and  you,  too,  for  all  your  watchful  care — eh  V 

"  The  surgeon  speaks  favorably  of  his  case,  sir,"  replied  the 
nurse,  catching  the  packer's  eye,  which  said :  "  I  told  yer  so — 
didn't  IT 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  him,  and  to  you,  too,  madam,  as  it 
will  enable  me  to  make  a  good  report  at  the  store.  Do  you 
know,  Bill,  that  the  boys  are  all  very  anxious  to  hear  how  you 
are  getting  on  ?  They  ask  after  you,  every  day,  with  affectionate 
interest." 

The  eyes  of  the  packer  sparkled  with  mixed  pleasure  and 
pride. 

"  Do  they,  though,  Samuel  ?" 

"  Every  day,  Bill ;  and  many  of  them  design  calling  up  to  see 
you.  But  I  want  to  say  a  few  words  to  you :  something  that 
will  cheer  you !"  *"»&> 

The  nurse  considerately  moved  away  to  another  part  of  the 
ward. 

The  packer  looked  up  at  his  visitor,  inquiringly. 

"  It's  about  your  mother,  Bill,"  returned  Samuel.  "  What  of 
her  ?"  asked  the  packer,  eagerly. 

Samuel  then  related  the  substance  of  his  interview  with  Mrs. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  287 

Farley,  modestly  omitting  all  mention  of  his  own  generosity, 
and  winding  up  as  follows  : — 

"If  you  think  Mrs.  Osborn  would  be  happy  in  my  friend's 
humble  home,  Bill,  I  will  see  her  this  evening  and  convey  her 
there  without  delay.  I  will  be  answerable  both  to  the  lady  and 
yourself  that  Mrs.  Farley  will  spare  no  efforts  to  make  her 
comfortable." 

"  I  would  thank  yer,  Samuel,  for  this,"  said  the  packer,  in  a 
broken  voice,  "  but  words  fail  me  !  Believe  me,  however — " 

"  You  accept,  then  1"  interrupted  Samuel. 

"  With  gratitude— " 

"  Ah  !  you  make  me  very  happy,"  cried  Samuel.  "  I  will  see 
your  mother  to-night,  and  tell  her  how  finely  you  are  improving. 
She  is  a  dear,  good  soul,  and  loves  you  very  much.  She  is 
absolutely  proud  of  you,  Bill.  Well,  good-bye.  There's  a  deal 
of  business  at  the  store,  and  I  must  be  off.  Keep  your  heart 
up  like  a  hero — trust  in  our  Lord  and  Prince,  an4  all  will  yet 
be  well.  Good-bye !" 

As  he  passed  to  the  door,  he  whispered  to  the  nurse — 

"  I  need  not  urge  upon  you,  madam,  to  be  watchful  of  our  dear 
friend.  For  every  kind  attention  you  pay  to  him,  for  every 
spark  of  pain  you  save  him,  for  every  hour  that  you  bring  him 
nearer  to  health,  his  tender-hearted  mother  will  be  grateful  when 
sending  up  her  pious  thanks  to  God,  while  his  friends  will  re 
member  them  in  another  way." 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  him,  Mr.  Leland — be  assured  of  that," 
returned  the  nurse. 

"  Ah !  thank  you — thank  you,  madam.  You  make  me  very 
happy  !  What  a  field  you  have  here  for  kindness,  gentleness,  and 
mercy  !  I  could  almost  envy  you  the  joy  you  must  hourly  ex 
perience  in  lessening  your  fellow-creatures'  woes." 

"  There  is  a  pleasure  in  it,  Mr.  Leland  !"  said  the  nurse.   "  For 


288          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

every  spark  of  pain  that  we  can  save  them,  we  find  a  satisfac 
tory  reward.'* 

"  In  your  own  hearts  T' 

''Yes." 

The  young  Christian  looked  at  her  mild,  motherly  face,  and 
tenderly  serene  eye.  An  instant,  and  an  air  of  joy  mantled  his 
own  frank,  honest  countenance.  He  caught  her  hand,  and  press 
ing  it,  exclaimed — 

"  Sister !  You  are  one  of  us.  Ah !  you  make  me  very 
happy !" 

"  The  pleasure  is  mutual,  brother,"  returned  the  nurse. 

"  And  thus,  as  we  pass  on  to  The  Kingdom,  we  meet,  now 
and  then,  a  kindred  spirit  on  the  way.  Ah,  what  joy !" 

"  We  have  many  joys,"  said  the  nurse.  "  Our  Prince  is 
careful  of  His  people." 

"  So  very  careful,  and  so  kind  !  If  men  would  but  believe  it! 
But  I  must  a\fay.  Drop  a  word  of  our  Prince,  now  and  then, 
to  our  friend.  His  heart  is  but  a  little  way  from  Him  now.  He 
would  be  a  true  soldier,  if  he  should  once  put  on  the  armor." 

" I'll  remember." 

"  Do — you  make  me  very  happy.  Adieu !"  the  young  Chris 
tian  said,  and  was  gone. 

The  following  morning,  Samuel  returned  to  the  Hospital,  and 
notified  the  packer  that  Mrs.  Osborn  was  under  the  protection 
of  the  laundress. 

The  intelligence  was  a  healing  balm  to  the  poor  fellow.  It 
eased  his  mind  upon  a,  to  him,  all-important  point.  From  that 
hour  he  throve  rapidly. 


CHAPTER    XX 

"  SAMUEL,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  one  evening,  after  tea,  "  have 
you  anything  particular  on  hand  this  evening  V 

"  Nothing  so  urgent  that  I  cannot  postpone  it  to  another  time," 
answered  the  young  man ;  "  providing  I  am  wanted  at  home." 

"  You  are  always  wanted  there,  truant !"  said  Isabella,  with  a 
coquettish  pout.  "  Don't  you  say  so,  coz  1" 

"  I  presume  Mr.  Leland  is  at  home  as  often  as  his  duties  will 
permit,"  returned  Miriam,  with  her  usual  diffidence. 

"  You  presume  /"  exclaimed  Isabella.  "  Well,  that  is  pretty  ! 
Why,  you  knoio,  coz,  that  Samuel  is  never  at  home  any  more  1 
To-night  he  is  off  to  prayer-meeting,  to-morrow  among  his  poor? 
the  evening  after  concerting  with  some  of  his  fellow-clerks,  in  the 
packing -room — so  uncle  tells  us — how  they  shall  save  one  more 
poor  soul  from  spiritual  ruin,  arid  another  from  temporal  suffer 
ing!" 

u  I  beg  that  you  won't  drag  me  into  your  conspiracy,  'Bel," 
observed  Mr.  Townsend.  "  The  fact  is,  I  was  indiscreet  in  men 
tioning  the  secrets  of  the  packing-room ;  but  since  you  are  so 
imprudent  as  to  repeat  tales  out  of  school,  I  shall  be  more  cau 
tious  in  future !" 

"  That's  a  dear  good  guardy !"  cried  Isabella,  patting  him  play 
fully  on  the  cheek.  "  Do  be  cautious — don't  tell  us  anything. 
We  so  like  to  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  what  is  going  on  down 
there !" 

"  You  have  got  one  resource  in  case  I  fail,"  returned  her  uncle, 
laughing. 

13  <»«» 


290          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Indeed  ?"  cried  Isabella.  "  Samuel  himself?  Pshaw  !  He 
won't  tell  us !" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  who  delighted  to  torment  her. 
"  Mr.  Brigham !" 

"  Mr.  Brigham,  indeed !"  returned  Isabella,  with  a  charming 
pout,  "  Uncle—" 

"  Well,  my  pet  T 

"  You  are  a  perfect  tease !" 

"  But  all  this  is  apart  from  the  main  point,"  said  Mrs.  Towns- 
end.  "  The  question  is,  how  shall  we  prevail  upon  Samuel  to 
favor  us  with  his  company  this  evening  ?" 

"  That  is  the  point,  indeed  !"  cried  Isabella,  turning  from  her 
uncle,  whom  she  had  been  playfully  belaboring  with  her  small, 
delicate  knuckles. 

"  There  needs  no  prevailing  at  all,"  observed  Samuel.  "  Your 
simple  wish  is  enough." 

"Oh,  Mr, Truant,"  said  Isabella,  shaking  her  finger  archly,  "it 
is  well  enough  for  you  to  say  that,  after  you  are  caught ;  par 
ticularly  when  you  know  that  you  are  wanted  home  all  the 
time !" 

"  You  have  a  merry  heart !"  returned  the  young  man. 

"  If  I  have,  no  thanks  to  you,  Truant !"  said  Isabella,  in  a  tone 
which  was  artfully  made  up  of  mingled  vivacity  and  feeling. 
"  Here  you  are  off  every  night  among  your  suffering  poor,  and 
never  give  a  single  thought  to  the  suffering  poor  at  home  !" 

The  merchant  and  his  wife  exchanged  a  glance,  which  said — 
"She  is  after  him  again  !" 

Miriam  was  pale.  An  air  of  anguish  was  visible  in  her 
features.  Her  uncle  observed  it,  and  came  up  to  her  rescue. 

"  If  a  certain  gentleman  should  hear  you  say  that,  'Bel !"  he 
cried,  laughingly. 

Isabella  understood  him,  and  retorted — 

"  A  certain  lady  don't  like  to  be  tormented  about  a  certain 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          291 

gentleman,  guardy,  because  that  certain  lady  feels  no  interest 
whatever  in  what  a  certain  gentleman  may  think  !" 

"  Mr.  Brigham,"  said  a  servant. 

Isabella  bit  her  lip ;  the  merchant  and  his  wife  smiled ; 
Miriam  experienced  a  sense  of  relief,  and  Mr.  Brigham  entered 
the  parlor. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Brigham  T'  said  Mr.  Townsend.  "  You  have 
come  in  quite  opportunely.  We  want  you  to  settle  an  im 
portant  question." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  very  good !"  remarked  the  confidential  clerk, 
seating  himself.  "  But  I  hope  it  won't  detain  us  long." 

"  Us  !"  repeated  Isabella. 

"  Exactly,"  returned  Mr.  Brigham,  surveying  her  with  his  half- 
pent  eyes.  "  Don't  you  remember  our  engagement  *?  The 
opera  !" 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  the  young  lady.  "  How  very  shocking  !  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  it !" 

Mr.  Brigham's  lips  became  livid. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Townsend  regarded  Isabella  with  astonishment. 
They  were  wholly  unprepared  for  this  rudeness  even  in  their 
whimsical  niece. 

"  We  have  still  half  an  hour  !"  suggested  Mr.  Brigham,  refer 
ring  to  his  repeater. 

"  Oh  !  I  could  "never  dress  in  that  time  !"  answered  Isabella^ 
"  Besides,  I  have  no  inclination  to  go.  I  detest  the  opera  !" 

"  A  recent  conversion,  I  apprehend  !"  observed  Mr.  Brigham? 
showing  his  teeth. 

"  No !"  rejoined  Isabella.  "  I  have  never  regarded  it  with 
favor.  If  1  have  appeared  to  do  so,  it  has  only  been  to  accom 
modate  my  friends.  But  we  must  not  always  be  frivolous, 
even  to  please  them  !" 

"Good!"  thought  Mr.  Townsend.  "That's  another  bait  for 
Samuel !" 


292          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  In  that  case,"  bowed  Mr.  Brigham,  "  I  have  not  a  word  to 
urge."  Then  turning  to  Samuel,  he  said,  with  an  ill-concealed 
sneer,  "  I  believe  you  are  not  partial  to  the  opera,  either  V* 

"  Not  very,  sir !"  returned  Samuel.  ''  I  judge  every  institution 
by  a  single  standard ;  and  that  standard  condemns  the  opera." 

"Yes.  The  standard  of  the  Church!"  said  Mr.  Brigham, 
derisively. 

"  Yes,  sir — in  effect.  Specifically,  by  the  query  :  *  What  good 
does  it  perform  V  " 

"  It  cultivates  music,  art,  and  taste,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  with 
the  cynical  air  of  a  Solon ;  "  benefits  trade  by  giving  employ 
ment  to  thousands,  and — " 

He  paused,  as  if  in  chase  of  an  idea  which  had  suddenly  es 
caped. 

"  Corrupts  the  morals  of  its  auditors  !"  said  Samuel,  finishing 
the  sentence  for  him. 

"  A  stale  idea  !"  remarked  Mr.  Brigham. 

"  It  may  be,  but  yet  a  correct  one." 

"  You  flatter  yourself,  sir !" 

"  By  no  means.  I  put  forth  the  statement  not  for  its  novelty, 
but  its  truthfulness.  Minds  whose  opinions  are  governed  by  the 
One  Code,  look  upon  evil  things  in  the  same  light,  through  all 
ages.  What  can  be  said  of  an  institution  which  enervates  the 
minds  and  morals  of  its  own  professors,  but  that  it  is  a  bad  one  ? 
It  is  true,  a  singer  appears  now  and  then  who  is  up  to  the  aver 
age  line  of  virtue,  honesty,  and  integrity.  But  such  instances 
are  the  exception — the  very  reverse  being  the  rule.  Who  will 
stand  up  for  an  institution  which  employs  the  divine  art  of  mu 
sic  to  allure  unsuspecting  minds  to  an  exhibition  which  under 
mines  the  modesty  of  woman,  familiarizes  her  with  bawdy  senti 
ments,  and  uproots  the  holy  principles  which  were  implanted  in 
her  heart  in  her  childhood  ?  Which  exhibits  woman  in  a  garb 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          293 

that  deprives  her  of  every  vestige  of  purity,  and  makes  even  of 
the  spectators  smiling  aiders  and  abettors  in  her  shame  ?" 

"  Stiff-necked  cant  and  religious  drivelling !"  sneered  Mr. 
Brigham. 

"  Call  it  so,  if  you  will.  You  are  entitled  to  your  opinion, 
and  I  to  mine.  But  answer  me  this.  Would  it  not  humiliate 
you,  would  it  not  empurple  your  cheek  with  shame,  to  see  your 
mother  or  your  sister  flaunting  in  the  immodest  garb  of  a  ballet- 
dancer,  or  an  opera-singer,  in  the  street,  or  even  in  a  drawing- 
room  1" 

Mr.  Brigham  made  no  reply. 

"  Transfer  her,  in  the  same  revolting  garb,  from  the  street  to 
the  stage,  would  the  change  make  her  the  less  immodest  or  re 
volting,  or  your  blush  less  humiliating  or  less  burning  ?" 

"  You  are  taking  too  great  a  liberty,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brigham, 
drawing  himself  up,  "  in  supposing  that  either  my  mother  or 
my  sister  could  descend  to  a  level  with  people  of  that  sort !" 

"  Excuse  me,"  returned  Samuel,  "  I  had  no  idea  that  you 
could  be  offended  by  such  a  comparison.  It  would  be  no  more 
improper  in  your  relatives  to  outrage  woman's  delicacy  than  in 
mine,  or  any  other  man's.  The  outrage  is  still  an  outrage,  by 
whomsoever  performed.  Nor  is  it  any  the  less  shameful 
because  it  is  supported  by  the  world  !" 

"  And  so  you,  like  all  religionists,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  desir 
ing  to  shift  his  position,  which  was  not  at  all  flattering,  "  are 
opposed  to  all  amusements  7" 

"  No,  sir  ;  only  to  those  which,  like  the  opera,  make  use  of 
Art  to  sap  the  foundations  of  Morality  !" 

"  One  thing  is  certain,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  with  a  mocking 
bow — "  you  are  in  a  glorious  minority  !" 

"  I  regret  it,"  returned  Samuel.  "  But  I  would  rather  be  in 
the  minority  of  Right,  than  in  the  majority  of  Wrong  !" 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  '« that  is  a  heroic  phrase  !" 


294          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  entertain  us  with  a  better  !"  said  Isabella. 

"  Excuse  me  !"  returned  Mr.  Brigham,  showing  his  teeth.  "  1 
am  not  an  actor  !" 

"  What  a  pity  !"  cried  Isabella.  "  You  would  have  made 
such  a  capital  '  villain  !' " 

"  Ha  !  Miss  Landon  !"  returned  Mr.  Brigham,  in  a  voice  which 
resembled  a  serpent's  hiss,  "  a  '  villain  !'  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Isabella,  with  freezing  calmness. 

The  half-pent  eyes  of  the  confidential  clerk  glittered,  through 
their  fringes,  up  at  the  speaker,  for  a  few  moments,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  the  most  intense  malignity.  Then,  as  if  conscious 
of  the  impolicy  of  exposing  his  feelings,  he  gradually  softened 
the  glance,  and  said,  laughingly— 

"  To  be  as  facetious,  severe,  and  capricious  as  she  pleases,  is  the 
prerogative  of  beauty  !"  Then,  without  giving  her  time  to  reply, 
he  turned  to  Mr.  Townsend,  and  said — "  The  question  which 
you  were  about  to  put  was — " 

"  This,"  said  the  merchant.  "  Whether  a  man  should  go 
abroad  in  search  of  heathen,  while  there  are  heathen  in  his  own 
house  V 

"  What  is  guardy  up  to  ?"  asked  Isabella,  in  a  whisper,  of  her 
aunt,  who  answered  her  with  a  dubious  shrug. 

"  I  should  say  look  at  home  first,  by  all  means,"  replied  Mr. 
Brigham,  wondering  at  what  lay  hidden  beneath  the  query. 

"  There,  Samuel,"  cried  Mr.  Townsend,  "  all  are  against  you — 
even  Mr.  Brigham !" 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  Mr.  Leland  rank  me  among  his 
enemies,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  with  a  nervous  tremor  of  his  lips, 
which  was  observed  by  all  except  Samuel  himself. 

"  It  would  give  me  great  pain  to  be  aware  that  I  had  any," 
returned  Samuel. 

"  Good !  I  find  I  am  not  suspected  !"  muttered  the  confidential 
clerk.  Then  resuming  his  vein  of  irony,  he  said,  aloud,  "  A  man 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  295 

of  merit,  however,  cannot  expect  to  pass  through  life  without 
finding  foes  at  every  step." 

"  In  that  event,"  said  Samuel,  "  an  obscure  individual  like 
myself  may  reasonably  look  for  an  exemption  from  so  trying  a 
lot." 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  "would  be  confessing  to  an 
acknowledged  absence  of  all  claims  to  superiority  !" 

*'•  Yes,  sir.     I  pretend  to  no  such  claims." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  showing  his  teeth,  with 
him  a  sign  that  he  designed  to  be  very  cutting,  "  I  had  a  contrary 
idea !" 

"  I  regret  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Brigham,"  replied  Samuel,  suppress 
ing,  with  a  heroic  effort,  his  rising  blood.  "I  have  no  desire  to 
be  considered  what  I  am  not.  I  regard  pretension  of  every 
kind  with  abhorrence.  It  is  unworthy  and  superfluous.  It  deceives 
no  one,  and  least  of  all,  those  whom  it  is  designed  to  deceive.  A 
man  of  conscious  or  confessed  merit  has  no  need  of  it.  Gold 
will  pass  for  its  own  honest  value,  without  the  aid  of  brass. 
While  all  the  pretension  in  the  world  will  not  make  a  man  of 
merit  of  one  who  has  it  not ;  and  still  less  will  it  enable  him  to 
pass  for  a  man  of  merit.  The  world,  if  it  be  not  over  wise  in 
great,  has  a  keen  eye  for  little  things ;  and  when  a  small  mind 
comes  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  before  it,  the  latter  detects 
its  flimsiness  in  an  instant,  and  greets  it  with  a  scoffing  roar. 
For  these  reasons,  if  for  no  other,  I  should  always  avoid  pre 
tension  !" 

"  But  for  which  of  your  reasons,  Mr.  Lei  and  1"  pursued  Mr. 
Brigham,  ironically.  "  The  first  or  the  last]" 

"  That  is  pressing  the  question  rather  too  closely,  I  think,"  re 
turned  Samuel.  "  Nevertheless,  I  will  answer  it." 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind !"  said  Mr.  Brigham. 

"  In  this  way,"  said  Samuel.  "  If  I  desired  to  be  thought  a 
man  of  talent,  in  sarcasm,  for  instance,  I  would  return  you  sneer 


296          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

for  sneer.  (Mr.  Brighara  reddened.)  That  I  have  not,  implies 
one  of  two  things — either  that  I  am  unable,  or  unwilling,  to  do 
so.  I  confess  to  the  correctness  of  both  !" 

"Bravo,  Samuel !     Give  it  to  him  again  !"  cried  Isabella. 
•    "  'Bel !"  said  her  aunt,  in  a  reproving  tone. 

"  Oh,  if  the  gentleman  is  unable  to  defend  himself — "  began 
Mr.  Brigham. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  interrupted  Samuel,  "  I  was  not  aware  that 
I  had  been  attacked." 

"  Good  again,  Samuel !"  cried  Isabella,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  What  a  giant  he  must  be  when  his  heaviest  blows  scarcely 
ruffle  the  air !" 

"  Oh,  if  I  must  face  two  such  master-spirits,"  sneered  the  con 
fidential  clerk,  "I  shall  retire  from  the  combat  altogether!" 

"  The  only  way  by  which  you  can  save  the  remnant  of  your 
reputation !"  laughed  Isabella.  "  When  a  man  is  defeated,  it  is 
a  glorious  thing  for  him  to  be  able  to  say,  '  I  retired  to  avoid  my 
enemy's  last  kick !' " 

"  You  are  very  good !"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  showing  his  teeth. 
"  It  is  no  disgrace  to  retire  before  the  advance  of  so  pitiless  a 
reinforcement !" 

"A  stranger  would  suppose,"  said  Samuel,  good-humored ly, 
*'  that  we  were  a  trio  of  enemies,  and  not  friends.  Let  us  drop 
our  personalities,  and  talk  in  a  pleasanter  strain." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  drawing  himself 
up.  "As  for  me,  I  neither  dread  your  personalities  nor  your 
logic !" 

"  Hear  him,  aunt !"  cried  Isabella.  "And  he  was  himself  the 
.first  and  only  one  to  exhibit  bile !" 

"  You  appear  to  enjoy  rating  me  to-night,  Miss  Landon !"  said 
Mr.  prigham,  biting  his  lip. 

"  Oh,  no — you  flatter  yourself,  sir !"  answered  Isabella,  jeer- 
ingly.  "  I  rate  you  without  any  pleasure,  I  assure  you !" 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         297 

"  If  my  presence  is  offensive — " 

"  Oh,  no — don't  think  so,  sir ;  pray,  don't !"  cried  his  tormentor, 
with  a  pitiless  smile.  "  Your  presence,  like  your  conversation} 
is  altogether  amusing  /" 

The  confidential  clerk  turned  absolutely  livid. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Samuel,  "  that  I  have,  without  meaning  it,  been 
the  unhappy  cause  of  all  this  !" 

A  general  murmur  of  admiration  greeted  this  noble  offer  of 
the  young  Christian  to  take  upon  himself  the  blame  of  the  jarring 
cross-fire. 

Mr.  Brigham  started.  He  saw  in  an  instant  that  his  only 
chance  of  salvation  from  the  contempt  of  all  present  consisted  in 
a  speedy  and  manly  change  in  his  tactics. 

"  I  will  not  be  outdone  in  magnanimity,"  he  said,  extending 
his  hand  to  Samuel,  with  a  show  of  deep  feeling.  "  Forgive  me 
for  what  I  have  said,  and  attribute  it  not  to  an  ungenerous  heart, 
but  to  a  hasty  head  !" 

"Ah !"  cried  the  young  Christian,  returning  the  pressure,  "  you 
make  me  very  happy !  How  much  better  this  which  warms  us, 
than  cutting  words  which  wound  !" 

"  May  I  hope  for  forgiveness  from  you,  too,  Miss  Landon  ?" 
added  the  confidential  clerk,  approaching  her. 

"  If  Samuel  is  willing  to  overlook  your  fault,"  returned  Isa 
bella,  calmly,  "  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't !" 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  which  impressed  the  confidential  clerk 
with  a  conviction  that  the  speaker  fully  comprehended  the  char^ 
acter  of  his  repentance.  Nevertheless,  he  deemed  it  most  politic 
not  to  appear  to  have  understood  aught  beyond  her  words. 

"  You  are  very  good !"  he  said,  with  a  low  bow.  Then  resum 
ing  his  seat,  he  muttered  to  himself  in  an  under  tone,  "  My  time 
will  come  by-and-bye !" 

"  How  much  better,"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  in  his  pleasant  way, 

although  he  believed  about  as  much  in  the  honesty  of  the  confi- 
13* 


298          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

dential  clerk's  sincerity  as  his  niece  did,  "  to  dwell  in  peace  and 
concord,  than,  like  mad  dogs,  in  snapping  and  snarling  at  each 
other !" 

"  It  is  much  pleasanter,  and  more  becoming,  at  any  rate,' 
remarked  his  lady. 

"As  for  me,"  said  Isabella,  "  I  do  so  love  a  good  jolly  fight^ 
once  in  a  while  !  It  makes  me  feel  better  for  a  week  !" 

"  So  that,"  laughed  her  uncle,  "  for  you  to  be  perfectly  happy, 
it  is  essential  that  you  should  have  a  game  of  sharps  with  some 
body  once  every  seven  days !" 

"Uncle—" 

"  Well,  my  pet  ?" 

'You  are  a  tease!" 

"  In  that  case,"  smiled  Mr.  Brigham,  "  I  shall  know  how  to 
take  you  in  future." 

"  Mr.  Brigham — "  said  Isabella,  shaking  her  finger  playfully. 

"  Miss  Landon  T 

"  You  are-  a  torment." 

"Fin  sure,  'Bel,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "you  will  have  no  right 
to  complain  if  we  give  you  a  wide  margin  when  you  undertake 
again  to  be  satirically  severe !" 

"Aunt—" 

Well,  my  dear  ?" 

"  You  are  a  plague  !" 

"  Come,  come,"  laughed  Mr.  Townsend,  "  when  one's  wife  is 
attacked  in  that  way,  it  is  a  husband's  duty  to  come  up  to  her 
rescue.  Now,  miss — do  you  know  what  you  are  1" 

"  Pray,  sir,  what  am  I1?"  demanded  his  niece,  placing  her  arms 
a-kimbo,  and  marching  up  to  him  with  an  air  at  once  so  full  of 
hoyden  mischief  and  mock  earnestness,  that  it  plunged  all  present 
into  a  roar.  "  What  am  I  ?" 

"  You  are—" 

"  Well,  sir !" — shaking  her  head  like  a  little  old  woman,  who 


WHICH  :   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          299 

was  chuck  full  of  spirit,  and  was  facing  another  little  old  woman 
who  had  been  taking  down  her  clothes-line,  and  was  adding  to  the 
enormity  by  uttering  some  cutting  things — "  why  do  you  pause  1 
If  you  have  got  anything  to  say,  spit  it  out !" 

"  You  are—" 

"Well,  sir— what?" 

"  The  prettiest,  pertest,  sauciest,  and  most  independent  patron 
of  dry  goods  that  resides  in  Fifteenth  street !" 

In  another  moment  both  uncle  and  niece  were  engaged  in  a 
fierce  battle,  which  terminated  in  favor  of  the  latter,  who  waved 
her  handkerchief  over  the  head  of  her  enemy  with  three  cheers, 
and  then  with  an  "Alone  I  did  it !"  she  returned  with  the  ma 
jestic  air  of  a  victor  to  her  seat,  to  the  tune  of  "  See,  the  Conquer 
ing  Hero  Comes,"  which  was  whistled  by  no  less  an  individual 
than  the  great  defeated  himself— her  uncle. 

"  Bravo  !"  cried  Mr.  Brigham,  applauding  vociferously  ;  "  bravi 
— bravissimi !" 

"  You  have  a  merry  heart !"  cried  Samuel,  who  could  not  help 
admiring  the  young  lady's  charming  vivacity. 

"And  such  a  coquettish  swing  !"  added  Mr.  Brigham,  mimick 
ing  her  walk. 

"Ah !  well,"  laughed  Mr.  Towesend,  "  it  is  fortunate  we  are 
not  all  young  men ;  or  that  merry  heart  and  that  coquettish 
swing  might  be  the  death  of  some  one !  And  that  reminds  me  — " 

"  Of  what,  guardy  1"  asked  Isabella. 

"  That  we  shall  have  a  converzatione  here  on  the  twentieth. 
Brigham,  my  boy  !  consider  yourself  invited." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  returned  that  gentleman. 

"  And  poor  me,  guardy  *?"  said  Isabella. 

"  You  are  already  set  down  for  it,  per  order." 

"  By  whose  order,  I  should  like  to  know !" 

"Mr.  Crittenden's !" 

"  Good !     He  will  be  home,  then !    Brave  !  what  a  time  we'll 


300          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

have  in  tearing  each  other  to  pieces !  Mr.  Brigham,  look  out  foi 
yourself!" 

"  Nay,  I  shall  assist  in  the  massacre,"  answered  the  confidential 
clerk,  with  a  grand  display  of  his  eloquent  teeth. 

"In  that  case,  I  shall  look  out  for  myself!"  cried  the  imperial 
beauty.  "  Dear — dear !  what  slashing  there  will  be !  We 
always  do  have  such  jolly  times  at  Mr.  Crittenden's  converza- 
tiones! — But,  guardy — you  forgetful  man  ! — how  about  Samuel  ?" 

"  How  very  pat  she  is  with  that  hated  name !"  muttered  Mr. 
Brigham,  in  an  under  tone. 

"  Samuel  is  invited,  of  course,  and  Mirry,  and  all  the  rest  of 
us,  and — that's  all!" 

"  In  which  case,"  laughed  Mr.  Brigham,  "  I  shall  be  off." 

"  Oh,  cruel  man !"  cried  Isabel,  striking  an  attitude,  "  tear  not 
thyself  away !" 

"  What — so  soon  ?"  demanded  the  merchant.  "  It  is  scarcely 
ten!" 

"  Nay,  half  after !"  returned  Mr.  Brigham,  consulting  his  re 
peater.  "  Good-night !" 

"  And  a  good  riddance !"  thought  Isabella. 

The  departure  of  the  spirit  of  discord — Mr.  Brigham — was  a 
sensible  relief  to  the  party,  and  the  evening  passed  away  plea 
santly. 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

UPON  reaching  the  store,  one  morning,  Samuel  took  up  a 
morning  paper,  the  New  York  Satanic  Chuckle.  While  glanc 
ing  through  its  editorial  columns,  his  eye  was  arrested  and  his 
mind  disturbed  by  the  following  characteristic  article  : — 

4Q| 

"  ASTOUNDING  FRAUD — CONSTERNATION  AMONG  THE  CASHIERS 

A    SPLENDID     LIVE     SPECIMEN     OF     THE    CODFISH    ARISTOCRACY 

— FASHIONABLE  PIETY  AT  A,  DISCOUNT — RICH  DEVELOPMENTS. — 
In  another  column  will  be  found  the  particulars  of  a  rich  scene 
which  came  off  yesterday  at  the  Tombs.  Mr.  John  Rankin, 

Cashier  of  the Bank,  was  arrested  by  officer  Bowyer,  one 

of  the  aids  of  the  Chief  of  Police,  charged,  on  the  complaint  of 
Mr.  Peter  Leslie,  President  of  the  Bank,  with  having  embezzled, 
from  time  to  time,  within  the  last  eight  months,  various  sums 
from  the  Bank,  amounting  in  all,  as  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained, 
to  between  $75,000  and  $80,000,  and  also  with  having  made  false 
entries  in  his  accounts  for  the  purpose,  to  use  a  delicate  phrase, 
of  concealing  his  deficiencies.  According  to  our  reporter,  the 
appearance  of  the  prisoner,  when  brought  by  the  officers  into 
court,  whither  he  was  followed  by  a  motley  crowd  of  street  and 
other  loafers,  among  them  several  bank  officers,  who  seemed  to 
enjoy,  with  wonderful  zest,  the  woe-begone  air  of  this  specimen 
of  their  number,  was  ludicrous  in  the  extreme.  He  was  very 
much  agitated  ;  so  much  so,  that  it  was  with  great  difficulty  he 
could  stand  upon  his  feet.  He  was,  by  turns,  pale  and  red.  His 

(801) 


302          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

teeth  chattered,  his  hair  rose  up  with  mingled  shame  and  terror, 
and  his  whole  aspect  was  that  of  a  man  who  desired  the  earth  to 
open  and  swallow  him  up.  The  poor  devil  was,  in  fact,  in  the 
highest  state  of  excitement.  His  white  neck-cloth  was  turned 
awry,  the  tie  being  on  a  line  with  his  ears.  He  was  bewildered, 
confused,  stupefied.  The  evidence  against  him  was  so  strong 
that  the  magistrate  fixed  his  bail  at  the  sum  of  $50,000  ;  but  as 
no  one  appeared  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  bailing  the  prisoner  in 
that  amount,  he  was  locked  up  without  further  ceremony.  It 
appears  that  the  cashier  has,  for  nearly  a  year  past,  been  a  con 
stant  habitue  of  Pat  Hearne's  extensive  gambling  establishment, 
on  Broadway,  at  which  famous  hell  he  is  said  to  have  lost  every 
dollar  of  his  own,  as  well  as  of  the  successive  amounts  which,  it  is 
alleged,  he  abstracted  from  the  Bank.  He  is  said  to  be  the  father 
of  a  large  and  interesting  family,  who,  it  is  needless  to  add,  are 
thrown  into  the  profoundest  consternation  and  affliction  by  the 
culpability  of  their  head.  The  prisoner  has  been  living  in 
splendid  style  among  the  codfish  aristocracy,  of  which  delectable 
order  he  was,  up  to  yesterday,  a  very  prominent  member.  We 
also  learn  that  he  is  a  very  pious  and  leading  member  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Engold's  church,  where  he  is  said  to  hold  a  pew  at  the 
very  moderate  rent  of  eight  hundred  dollars  ! 

"  P.  S. — Since  the  above  was  written,  the  prisoner  has  given 
the  finishing  touch  to  his  guilty  career,  by  adding  to  his  previous 
catalogue  of  crimes  that  of  self-murder.  The  keeper,  Mr. 
SnifFen,  upon  looking  into  the  prisoner's  cell,  at  twelve  o'clock 
last  night,  found  him  lying  upon  the  floor,  weltering  in  his  blood. 
He  had  succeeded,  with  the  assistance  of  a  small  pocket-knife, 
which  was  found  near  him,  in  opening  a  vein  in  his  left  arm,  and 
had  bled  to  death.  When  discovered  by  the  keeper,  life  was 
extinct — thus  furnishing  another  chapter  to  the  great  volume  of 
human  folly.  So  we  go !" 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          803 

Samuel  was  shocked ;  not  more  at  the  frightful  picture  which 
the  article  presented  of  a  soul  reeking  with  the  smoke  and 
freshness  of  its  guilt,  rushing,  madly  and  unrepentant,  up  to  the 
stern  bar  of  its  Creator,  than  at  the  cold-blooded  tone  of  the 
article  itself — as  if  its  writer  were  a  second  Satan,  and  chuckled 
over  the  sinful  tendencies  of  poor  humanity  ;  as  if  he  enjoyed 
the  opportunity  which  the  subject  afforded  him  to  banquet,  with 
devilish  mockery,  upon  a  fellow-creature's  ruin,  upon  the  com 
plete  overthrow  of  another  soul ;  as  if  he  gloated  over  the  havoc 
which  sin  was  making  in  society ;  as  if  John  Rankin's  crime, 
John  Rankin's  hypocrisy,  John  Rankin's  suicide,  John  Rankin's 
eternal  spiritual  destruction,  and  the  shame,  humiliation,  grief, 
and  temporal  distress  of  John  Rankin's  widow,  and  John  Rankin's 
little  ones,  together  with  all  the  John  Rankins,  past,  present,  and 
to  come,  and  all  the  iniquity  of  the  age,  and  the  swiftness  with 
which  the  age  itself,  and  all  of  it,  and  all  following  it,  were  driv 
ing,  pell-mell,  to  everlasting  destruction,  were — all  summed  up 
in  one — a  great,  philosophic,  side-splitting  JOKE  ! 

The  paper  fell  from  the  young  Christian's  hand. 

"Ah,"  he  murmured,  with  an  air  of  pain,  "how  the  press 
needs  purifying !  If  I  thought,  now,  that  the  heart  of  that  bad 
man  could  be  reached  by  a  letter,  or  by  a  personal  appeal ! 
But,  no,"  he  added,  after  a  few  moments  of  further  reflection, 
"  both  would  be  useless.  He  would  sneer  at  them,  as  he  does 
at  the  lightning  speed  with  which  men  are  hurrying  to  his  Mas 
ter.  Who  sees  his  fellow-creatures  struggling  in  the  gulf,  and 
instead  of  putting  out  his  energies  to  their  rescue,  mocks  at 
them—'1 

"  Samuel,"  interrupted  Charley  Gibbs,  "  a  dealer  from  Nor 
wich,  New  York,  desires  to  see  you.  Another  new  customer  !" 

The  day  wore  away,  and  evening  came.  Tea  was  over,  and 
Samuel  put  on  his  hat. 

"Are  you  going  out  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Townsend. 


304         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Samuel  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  You  are  never  at  home  any  more  !"  observed  Isabella,  with 
playful  petulance.  "  Why  can't  you  spare  us  an  evening,  you 
naughty  truant?" 

"  Business  !"  replied  Samuel,  with  suggestive  brevity. 

"  Important  ?"  asked  Isabella. 

"  My  MASTER'S  !"  returned  Samuel. 

The  ladies,  followed  by  Mr.  Townsend,  passed  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  Samuel  into  the  street. 

"  Something  is  on  his  mind,"  remarked  Mrs.  Townsend,  seat 
ing  herself  by  the  centre- table. 

"  He's  pondering  over  that  sad  affair  of  Mr.  Rankin's,"  said 
Isabella. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  inquired  her  uncle. 

"  Because  he  appeared  to  listen  with  so  much  interest  to  our 
discussion  of  the  subject  during  tea." 

Miriam  made  no  remark.  She  was  reflecting  upon  the  un 
happy  position  of  the  suicide's  family,  and  considering  what  she 
could  do  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  their  affliction. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Brigham  was  announced.  But  as  nothing 
of  any  importance  followed  that  worthy's  appearance,  we  shall 
follow  our  hero,  whose  every  word,  and  thought,  and  act,  always 
had  a  meaning  and  a  purpose. 

Samuel  sped  down  to  Tenth-street.  His  step  was  hasty,  his 
brow  thoughtful,  and  his  general  air  pregnant  with  earnestness. 
In  ten  minutes  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  pastor's,  with 
his  hand  upon  the  bell-pull. 

A  servant  answered  the  summons,  and  upon  learning  whom 
he  desired  to  see,  showed  him  into  the  parlor. 

Samuel  seated  himself,  and  looked  down  musingly.  He  had 
called  upon  a,  to  him,  important  business ;  a  business  which  re 
quired  delicacy  and  nerve ;  which  might  be  regarded  as  offen 
sive  ;  which  might  be  construed  into  an  insult ;  and  which  might 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          305 

make  an  enemy  of  a  friend.  Nevertheless,  he  felt  that  his  motive 
was  a  good  one,  and  he  determined  to  face  the  subject  manfully. 

"  Help,  Lord — help !"  he  murmured,  reverentially.  "  Be 
Thou  with  me  in  this,  as  in  seven  others  of  its  kind — for  Thy 
dear  Son's  sake !" 

A  ray  of  light,  filling  him  with  its  radiance  and  warmth, 
glowed  in  the  young  Christian's  heart,  and  he  knew  that  his 
prayer  had  been  heard  and  answered. 

His  countenance  beamed  with  mingled  gratitude  and  joy. 

"  Thou  art  with  me !  I  feel  Thy  stirring  Presence.  Glory  to 
Thee ! — glory  !"  he  murmured. 

An  approaching  step  echoed  upon  the  soft,  spongy  carpet. 
Samuel  raised  his  head. 

A  tall,  graceful,  dignified,  and  well-made  personage — with  the 
bearing  and  manner  of  a  gentleman,  and  the  calm,  thoughtful 
air  of  a  student — stood  before  and  was  looking  down  upon  him 
with  a  glance  of  paternal  benignity. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Engold  was  what  is  termed  a  fashionable 
preacher.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  the  pastor  of  a  fashionable 
church,  whose  congregation  was  made  up  of  wealthy  and  fashion 
able  people,  who  did  not  object  to  pay  him  four  thousand  dollars 
per  year  for  his  professional  services,  because  they  could  afford 
to  pay  him  that  amount,  and  because  he  WAS  WORTH  IT.  Mr. 
Engold  was  a  ripe  scholar,  an  acute  thinker,  and  a  graceful  de- 
claimer.  Possessing  the  refined  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  he  was 
mild,  courteous,  and  dignified  in  his  deportment.  Endowed  with 
a  large  mind,  he  was  noted  for  the  depth  and  comprehensiveness 
of  his  views.  Gifted  with  a  noble  heart,  he  was  naturally  chiv 
alrous,  and  humane.  But  being  of  a  delicate,  sensitive,  and  re 
tiring  disposition,  he  rarely  ventured  abroad,  except  when  called 
upon  by  his  professional  duties,  preferring  the  companionship  of 
his  family,  and  the  privacy  of  his  study,  to  all  the  society  in  the 
world. 


806  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  clergyman  pressed  the  hand  of  his  visitor  with  mingled 
dignity  and  kindness. 

"  I  am  happy  to  see  and  welcome  you,  brother,"  he  said.  "  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  you  visit  me  oftener  than  you  do.  But 
knowing  the  character  of  your  time  and  occupation,  I  presume  I 
must  forego  that  happiness.  I  received  from  you,  to-day,  a  note 
stating  that  you  would  call  upon  me  this  evening,  in  the  hope  of 
finding  me  at  leisure." 

Samuel  bowed. 

"Permit  me  to  add,"  said  the  clergyman,  with  an  encour 
aging  smile,  "  that  you  could  not  have  chosen  a  happier  time." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  returned  his  visitor,  gratefully.  "  I  have 
come,"  he  added,  "  to  counsel  with  you  upon  an  important 
topic  : — Earnest  preaching" 

"  An  important  topic,  indeed,  and  one  which  it  will  give  me 
much  pleasure  to  converse  upon." 

"  You  make  me  very  happy  !  I  want  to  talk  with  you  upon 
it  in  a  way  which  will  do  us  both  good ;  in  a  way  which  will 
warm  both  your  breast  and  mine ;  in  a  way  which,  whatever  I 
may  say,  will  not  lessen  me  in  your  esteem,  nor  deprive  me  of 
your  friendship." 

"  Say  on,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  betraying,  in  spite  of  him 
self,  a  slight  degree  of  surprise. 

"  I  want,"  pursued  Samuel,  who  was  somewhat  disturbed  by 
the  change  in  his  pastor's  manner,  "  to  talk  with  you  in  a  cor 
dial,  brotherly  tone — like  two  hearts  that  love  and  esteem  one 
another,  and  who  would  not  dream  for  an  instant  that  either 
could  have  for  the  other  any  but  the  highest,  purest,  and  tender- 
est  good-will !"  ::'  .  ['' 

The  clergyman  regarded  his  visitor  for  a  moment  or  two  in 
silence,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  at  once  frank  and  reassuring — 

;:  One  word  !  I  enjoy  the  acquaintance  of  a  young  man  who 
is  noted  for  his  rare  devotedness  to  his  Redeemer.  Tt  is  said 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  307 

of  him,  that  he  has  never  spoken  an  unmanly  or  unchristian 
word ;  that  from  his  lips  come  forth,  daily,  utterances  which 
put  to  shame  the  loftiest  of  human  wisdom  ;  that  he  never  enters 
a  room  without  imparting  to  all  in  it  the  sunshine  and  the  odor 
of  his  own  pure,  artless  spirit ;  that  he  wanders,  like  a  spirit  of 
good,  among  the  haunts  of  the  vicious  and  outcast,  and  per 
suades  their  votaries,  one  by  one,  back  to  virtue  and  morality  ; 
that  he  glides  from  garret  to  cellar,  and  from  barrack  to  hovel, 
among  the  poor,  who  love  and  revere  him  as  their  only  true 
earthly  counsellor  and  benefactor — bringing  food  to  the  hungry, 
raiment  to  the  naked,  money  to  the  impoverished,  medicine  to 
the  ill,  encouragement  to  the  despairing — procuring  work  for  the 
capable,  advice  for  the  troubled,  consolation  for  the  afflicted, 
credit  for  the  creditless — wiping  off  the  little  debts  of  the  ill  and 
broken,  putting  sound,  practical  thoughts  into  the  minds  of  the 
shiftless,  giving  tone,  strength,  and  direction  to  the  wavering : — 
and  leading  all,  step  by  step,  like  little  children,  up  to  the  feet 
of  Jesus." 

*'  You  know  of  one  like  that  ?"  cried  Samuel,  with  an  air  of 
mixed  wonder  and  delight.  "  A  noble  heart !  A  gallant  heart ! 
A  TRUE  man  !  Oh.  sir,  acquaint  me  with  him,  too  !" 

The  clergyman  smiled,  and  continued  : — 

"  This  young  man  is  not  my  friend  alone,  but  every  one's  who 
is  in  trouble,  in  error,  or  in  need.  Of  himself,  he  thinks  never ; 
of  the  service  he  can  be  to  his  Prince  and  his  fellow-beings 
— always.  Knowing  of  the  immeasurable  happiness  which  fol 
lows  upon  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  his  beloved  Redeemer, 
his  every  thought  is  given  to  bringing  his  fellow-men  to  a  par 
ticipation  in  the  same  happiness,  early  and  at  once." 

"  A  noble  heart !"  cried  Samuel,  joyfully.  "  How  I  long  to 
know  him  !  He  could  teach  me  what  to  do,  to  better  serve  our 
Prince.  You  will  introduce  me  to  him — will  you  not  ?  Oh, 


308  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

what  great  things  we  could  do  together  for  the  extension  of  our 
Master's  kingdom  !" 

The  clergyman  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  him  : — 

"  My  young  friend  is  inspired  from  time  to  time  with  noble 
conceptions  of  noble  enterprises." 

"  Ah  !  sir,  how  could  he  else,  when  he  is  in  the  confidence  of 
our  Prince  ?" 

"  He  has  planned  an  organization,  which  is  made  up  of  young 
clerks  in  his  own  business — of  young  clerks,  who  will  be  future 
merchants.  The  object  of  this  association  is  three-fold  :  first,  to 
imbue  each  of  its  members  with  a  firm  determination  to  do 
business  upon  the  single  principle  of  strict  honesty,  when  they 
shall  themselves  become  merchants,  and  to  adhere  to  that  prin 
ciple  throughout  their  clerkships ;  secondly,  to  become  active, 
energetic  followers  of  their  Prince — to  bend  their  minds  and 
hearts  to  the  bringing  of  men  to  Christ,  to  helping  those  who 
cannot  help  themselves,  to  scattering  messages  of  salvation,  to 
rescuing  their  fellow-beings  from  temporal  want,  mental  dark- 
ness,  and  spiritual  misery ;  and,  thirdly,  to  spare  no  pains  to 
urge  their  acquaintance  in  the  same  business  to  start  similar 
associations  in  their  respective  houses,  and  thus  lay  the  nucleus 
of  a  future  generation  of  Christian  Merchants,  whose  every  trans 
action  shall  be  governed,  not  by  the  law  of  Greed,  but  by  the 
Law  of  God !" 

Samuel  blushed.  He  began,  at  length,  to  comprehend  the  ori 
ginal  of  his  pastor's  portrait. 

The  latter  smiled  quietly,  and  added — 

"  This  young  man's  ideas  work :  because  they  are  suggested 
from  On  High.  His  association,  which  was  begun  with  six,  now 
counts  seventy  members,  who  are  engaged  in  various  houses  in 
the  dry  goods  trade  ;  all  of  them  Christians — brave,  earnest,  self- 
denying  youth — and  all  exerting  an  influence  for  good  in  their 
respective  establishments.  Think  :  seventy  true  Christian  men, 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.          309 

working  together  to  lay  the  foundation  of  their  Master's  Church 
in  their  own  branch  of  Commerce,  and  looking  forward,  like 
true  men  in  the  Lord !  to  the  time  when  every  house  in  the  Dry 
Goods  Trade  shall  be  a  branch,  an  arm,  and  a  pillar  of  the  One 
Temple  !  Seventy  leal  subjects  of  Our  Prince,  and  all  partak 
ing  of  the  gentle,  fervent,  humane  spirit  of  their  leader  !  What 
may  they  not  perform  !  Every  otherwise  unemployed  moment 
in  the  day  is  given  to  kind  suggestions  to  their  fellow-clerks  to 
come  up  and  find  joy  in  the  work  of  the  Lord.  In  the  night — 
look  for  these  gallant  youth !  Once  a  week,  they  meet  in  the 
packing-room  of  the  house  where  their  leader  is  employed,  to 
report  the  results  of  their  labors  for  the  week,  and  to  renew 
their  strength  with  fresh  draughts  of  exhilarating  prayer,  five 
nights  in  the  week,  they  scatter,  sometimes  in  couples,  but  in  the 
main,  singly,  and  apparently  disappear.  Would  you  know 
whither  they  go  ?  Listen  :  There  are  in  this  great  city  districts 
around  which  Poverty  has  drawn  a  cordon  which  forbids  the  in 
gress  or  egress  of  all  save  the  lowliest  poor.  The  tenements  in 
these  districts  are  old,  broken,  and  decayed.  Each  apartment  in 
these  tenements  is  the  abode  of  an  entire  family,  made  up  some 
times  of  only  two,  but  oftener  of  six,  persons  :  so  that  each  house 
of  three  stories  not  unfrequently  gives  shelter  to  fifty  wretched 
beings,  who,  nine  times  in  ten,  know  as  little  of  God  as  of  clean 
liness  or  comfort.  From  cellar  to  garret,  they  nestle  in  swarms, 
amid  squalor,  dirt,  ignorance,  disease,  and  misery.  Say  there  are 
five  hundred  houses — in  some,  the  number  is  greater  ! — like 
these,  in  each  of  Poverty's  districts — what  a  field  for  the  philan 
thropist  and  the  Christian !  Come  night,  and  look  for  the  seventy  ! 
They  are  toiling  up  the  broken  stairways  of  these  tenements — 
halting  at  every  door,  leaving  advice,  encouragement,  tracts, 
Bibles,  bread  and  money  to  the  inmates  of  each,  as  their  wants 
may  suggest ;  getting  one  work,  giving  to  another  help,  another 
encouragement,  and  inviting  all  to  go  up  to  Him  whose  smile 


310          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

makes  equal  or  poverty  or  wealth ;  bringing  joy  to  the  hearts 
of  all,  and  leading  now  one,  and  then  another,  to  His  feet.  Ah  ! 
who  shall  measure  the  pangs  assuaged,  the  suffering  averted,  the 
sweet  counsels  given,  the  bitter  thoughts  removed,  or  the  hearts 
led  from  darkness  up  to  light,  by  this  noble  Christian  band !" 

Samuel  was  blushingly  silent. 

"  Recently,"  continued  the  clergyman,  "  the  leader  of  this 
glorious  organization,  zealous  ever  in  the  promotion  of  the  ope 
rations  of  his  Redeemer,  has  undertaken  another  task — to  arouse 
the  pulpit  to  an  earnest  prosecution  of  its  work.  But  here  I 
must  pause :  for  save  a  few  stray  rumors,  which  may,  or  may 
not,  be  authentic,  I  know  but  little,  but  of  which  I  should  be  glad 
to  be  wholly  informed.  I  have  gone  over  these  facts  in  the  his 
tory  of  my  young  friend,  to  show  you,  sir,  that  I  appreciate  the 
character  of  him  who  says  to  me  that  he  desires  to  converse 
with  me  upon  an  important  topic,  and  that  he  does  not  wish  me 
to  take  offence,  since  offence  is  in  nowise  meant,  at  whatever  he 
may  say.  Let  me  add,  that  in  the  breast  of  Henry  Erigold, 
whatever  may  be  thought  or  said  of  him  in  the  world,  there  beats 
a  heart  whose  every  throb  is  for  Humanity  and  God !" 

"  Ah !  sir,"  cried  Samuel,  who  was  visibly  distressed,  "  never 
have  I,  for  one  moment,  doubted  the  motive  of  your  work — 
never,  for  one  moment,  your  loyalty  or  well  meaning !" 

"  I  thank  you,  sir  !"  returned  the  clergyman,  gratefully.  "And 
now  that  we  understand  one  another,  let  us  converse  frankly, 
bravely — not  like  men,  talking  to  each  other's  ears,  but,  like 
Christians,  to  each  other's  hearts !" 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir !  How,  in  that  noble  suggestion,  do 
I  recognize  the  pure  ore,  the  sterling  ring,  of  a  brother !" 

"  Let  us  be  frank,  brother !"  said  the  clergyman,  in  a  voice 
whose  quivering  tone  was  accompanied  by  a  moisture  in  his 
eyes.  "  Come,  begin." 

Samuel  was  disturbed ;  but  mastering  his  emotion,  he  said — 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  311 

u  The  human  heart,  my  brother,  is  like  the  field  of  a  husband 
man,  who  rooted  out  all  the  weeds  and  stones,  who  ploughed  well, 
sowed  well,  and  reaped  a  rich  harvest  for  his  pains.  The 
spiritual  husbandman  who  would  glean  well,  must  plough  well, 
and  sow  well,  or  his  harvest  will  be  scant." 

"  That  is  true !"  observed  his  auditor,  after  a  few  moments  of 
reflection. 

"  My  brother,"  said  the  young  man,  solemnly,  "  thou  hast 
labored  long  upon  thy  field." 

"  I  have.     Go  on.     Spare  me  not !"  said  the  clergyman. 

"  Thou  hast  seen  the  rocks  and  the  weeds  V 

"  I  have." 

"  My  brother,  what  hast  thou  gleaned — my  brother,  where  is 
thy  harvest  1"  said  the  young  Christian,  mournfully. 

The  clergyman  started,  and  turned  pale. 

"  My  harvest  f  he  stammered. 

"  Thine  ?" 

The  clergyman  stared  at  his  interlocutor,  and  breathed  hard. 

"Here,"  said  the  young  man,  drawing  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  opening  it,  and  pointing,  with  a  sad  but  firm  gesture  to 
an  article  upon  the  editorial  page,  "  read  that !" 

The  article  was  that  which  Samuel  had  read  in  the  morning, 
concerning  the  defaulting  cashier. 

The  clergyman  had  already  perused  the  details  of  the  sad 
affair  in  another  journal.  He  ran  his  eyes,  nevertheless,  through 
the  editorial  in  question — blushing  at  the  sight  of  his  own  name 
— and  trembling  with  mingled  scorn  and  indignation  at  the  low, 
scurrilous,  mocking  tone  which  pervaded  the  article  itself. 

"  The  concoction  of  a  beastly  and  malignant  mind,  which  ap 
pears  to  revel  in  the  consciousness  of  its  own  and  others'  evil !" 
he  observed,  as,  with  a  nervous  shudder,  he  permitted  the  paper 
to  slide  through  his  fingers  to  the  floor.  "  I  hope,  Samuel — but 


312  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

no,  why  ask  such  a  question  of  you  ?  You  could  not  be  a  regular 
reader  of  so  infamous  a  sheet  as  that?" 

"  You  are  right,  ray  brother — I  could  not.  I  saw  it  by  chance, 
this  morning,  at  the  store,  for  the  first,  and,  as  I  hope  the  last  time ! 
I  brought  it  with  me,  in  part  that  you  might  see  how  Satan's 
chief  organ — for  I  hear  that  of  all  ribald  journals,  it  is  the  most 
widely  read — chuckles  over  each  new  evidence  of  weakness  in 
humanity,  and  every  fresh  instance  of  degeneracy  among  the 
people  of  Our  Prince ;  and  in  part  that  you  might  yourself  see 
the  fruits — not  yours  alone,  my  brother,  for  the  style  was  begun 
and  sanctioned  by  custom  long  ere  you  were  born !  but — of  a 
kind  of  preaching  which  is  doing  more  for  Satan  and  less  for 
Christ  than  men  dream  of — aye,  even  more  than  that  dark  chuck 
ling  thing  upon  the  floor  !" 

"  Me,  brother !"  cried  his  agitated  pastor,  staring  at  him  in 
mingled  mournfulness,  reproach,  and  bewilderment.  "You 
accuse  me  of  coldness,  indifference,  neglect — me/" 

"  For  none  of  these !"  returned  Samuel,  gently.  "  O,  no — 
for  none  of  these  !  And  yet — the  FRUITS  !" 

The  clergyman  breathed  hard  and  audibly. 

"The  fruits'?"  he  repeated. 

"  John  Rankin,  thief,  gambler,  and  self-murderer — Peter  Jones, 
fraudulent  bankrupt,  and  betrayer  of  his  own  wife  and  child — 
Mrs.  Jane  Clarke,  his  paramour,  the  willing  violator  of  her  own 
marriage  vow — " 

"Hold,  in  mercy,  brother!  What  could  do  I  for  these? 
Their  own  hearts  were  set  on  evil !" 

"  I  say  unto  you,  my  brother — ah !  I  say  it  not  unkindly  ! — 
that  these  are  not  all  of  the  members  of  your  church  who  have 
fallen  or  will  fall !" 

"  How  know  you  the  latter  ?" 

"  By  that  standard  which  deceives  not — Want  of  piety  !" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LE*T.          313 

"In  my  people1?" 

"  Ask  your  heart,  my  brother,  how  many  in  all  your  congre 
gation  meet  the  Christian's  mark  ?" 

The  clergyman  reflected,  and  his  brow  became  clouded  with 
an  air  of  pain. 

"  I  would  not  judge  !"  he  said,  rising  and  pacing  the  floor  in 
deep  agitation. 

"  Giving  to  its  two  hundred  members  and  its  four  hundred 
pew-renters  every  generous  latitude — how  many  evince  a 
solemn,  earnest  interest  in  their  own  salvation,  and  in  the  exten 
sion  of  their  Redeemer's  Kingdom?  How  many?" 

The  clergyman  resumed  his  scat,  and  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hands,  breathed  hard,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  f  asked  Samuel,  mournfully. 

His  auditor  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative. 

"  I  will  answer  for  you,"  said  the  young  man,  touched  to  the 
heart  by  his  pastor's  sufferings.  "  There  are  five — five  only  who 
give  hope  that  they  are  of  the  Ransomed.  -Oh,  my  brother,  how 
small  a  number,  from  so  many !  And  of  these  five,  four  were 
leal  subjects  to  Our  Prince  ere  your  coming  as  their  shepherd ; 
while  the  fifth  was  blessed  through  the  instrumentality  of  another 
in  a  neighboring  city.  My  brother — my  brother  !  The  weeds 
and  the  stones  in  the  hearts  of  your  people  have  been  sadly 
rooted  out !" 

"  Nay,"  said  his  pastor,  hoarsely,  "  you  are  unkind  !  You 
chide  me  for  no  fault  of  mine.  I  have  preached  and  prayed — I 
have  suggested  and  advised.  What  could  I  do  more  ?" 

"  Listen,  brother :  To  the  great  work  of  upbuilding  the 
Temple  of  our  Lord,  able  men  come  up  every  year  in  thousands. 
Many  enter  the  grounds,  but  only  a  few  are  of  service.  Not 
because  the  unthrifty  have  not  thews  and  sinews  like  the  thrifty, 
but  because  they  do  not  come  up  like  workmen.  They  toil,  and 
toil,  and  toil,  but  their  united  labors  are  as  naught  to  the  advance 
14 


314          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

ment  of  the  common  cause.  They  work,  and  work,  and  work , 
but  at  the  end  of  the  season,  they  cannot  point  to  a  stone  that 
they  have  laid,  to  a  pillar  that  they  have  raised,  nor  to  a  beam 
that  they  have  set.  And  yet  they  know  that  they  have  labored, 
faithfully  and  hard,  eagerly  and  long.  They  look  around,  in 
doubt  and  dismay,  for  the  fruits  of  their  labors,  but  find  them 
not.  They  rub  their  eyes,  and  look  again  ;  but  with  no  bettei 
success  than  before.  There  are  no  fruits ;  or  if  there  be,  they 
are  lying  aside  among  the  spoiled  castaway  refuse — which  any 
stranger  is  free  to  come  in  and  take  away.  And  why  1  Because 
the  unthrifty  toilers  worked  not  with  their  Masters  tools,  but — 
THEIR  OWN  !" 

The  clergyman  started  up,  and  paced  the  apartment  as  before, 
in  profound  agitation. 

Samuel  observed  him,  and  went  on  : 

"  Our  Prince  is  the  kindest  of  all  masters.  When  He  invites 
His  people  to  come  up  to  His  work,  He  provides  them  with 
fitting  tools — tools  which  are  reliable,  and  easy  to  the  hand. 
Who  uses  them,  gains  ground  ;  who  discards  them,  and  takes  up 
others  of  their  own,  advances  not.  Neither  the  arches  nor  the 
walls,  nor  yet  the  pillars,  nor  the  altar,  nor  any  part  soever  of 
His  temple,  can  be  worked  with  implements  wrought  by  human 
uands  !" 

"  Go  on,  brother.  Strike  deep  and  spare  not !"  cried  the  cler 
gyman,  who  was  pale  and  trembling,  but  yet  firm  and  decided  in 
heart.  "It is  my  conscience  which  you  are  addressing,  and  not 
me  !  If  I  have  been  unthrifty,  'tis  time  that  I  should  change ; 
for  'tis  my  desire  to  advance  my  Master's  work,  and  not  retard 
it  by  standing  in  the  way,  or  making  work  which  shall  be  cast 
aside.  I  affirm  it  before  Him  and  you,  that  my  heart  is  eager 
and  willing  for  His  cause!" 

"  I  think  it,  and  know  it,  dear  brother,"  said  his  visitor,  taking 
his  hand,  "  or  I  had  not  spoken  as  I  have  !" 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          315 

u  I  thank  you  for  it,  brother !"  answered  his  pastor,  returning 
his  warm  pressure.  "  And  now,  go  on  !  I  submit  frankly  to  the 
justness  of  your  reproof,  and  receive  your  counsel  as  generously 
as  it  is  meant.  Proceed  !" 

"  Nay,  not  now,"  said  the  young  man,  with  an  air  of  deep  ten 
derness  and  sympathy  ;  "  you  are  pale,  agitated — " 

"  No  matter,"  returned  the  clergyman,  with  a  grateful  smile, 
"  I  am  all  right  here,  and  I  will  go  through  with  this  like  one 
whose  only  fear  is  of  his  Maker's  frown.  Go  on,  my  brother ! 
You  have  spoken  bravely,  nobly,  manfully,  and  I  esteem  you 
for  it  the  more.  Go  on  !  The  storm  which  you  have  raised  in 
my  breast,  it  is  fit  you  help  me  to  allay,  or  I  shall  suffer  more 
than  I  can  bear — more,  let  me  hope,  than  I  deserve,  seeing  that 
my  error  has  come  not  so  much  from  a  weak  or  wilful  heart, 
as  from  a  want  of  thonghtfulness  in  head  !  Go  on  !" 

"  I  thank  you,  brother.  There  are  two  kinds  of  preaching — 
that  which  keeps  the  preacher  before  the  minds  of  his  auditory, 
and  that  which  keeps  the  subject.  The  former  is  man's  tool,  the 
latter  is  of  God,  The  first  may  fill  the  pews  with  renters  ;  but 
the  second  does  better,  for  it  fills  them  with  honest  converts. 
Every  pastor  should  aim  to  so  preach  that  his  own  individuality 
shall  disappear  in  his  subject,  and  naught  be  left  upon  the  minds 
of  his  hearers  but  the  goodness  of  their  Redeemer,  the  solemn 
consciousness  of  their  own  peril,  and  the  imperative  necessity  of 
immediate  repentance.  Every  discourse  that  does  not  this,  may 
be  faultless  and  masterly  as  a  composition  ;  but  as  a  sermon,  it  is 
a  mournful  and  humiliating  failure." 

"  I  confess  to  the  truthfulness  of  this,"  said  the  clergyman, 
frankly.  "  But  reflect.  The  class  for  whom  I  preach  are  the 
most  worldly  intelligent.  Should  I  abandon  the  eloquence  of 
talent,  and  the  polish  of  the  scholar,  they  would  abandon  my 
church,  and  I  should  be  left  to  empty  benches — thereby  depriv 
ing  me  of  the  means  of  reaching  their  hearts  at  all." 


316         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Nay,  hold  on  to  both  with  a  firm  hand  !  For  who  so  de 
serving  of  our  highest  talents  and  accomplishments  as  Oar  Re 
deemer  1  What  topic  calls  so  imperatively  for  the  mind's  choi 
cest  jewels  as  THE  DIVINE  MESSAGE  !  Only  so  employ  these 
jewels  in  their  setting,  that  the  world  shall  see  that  they  are  set 
to  beautify  the  Message,  and  not  the  preacher" 

"  Surely,  if  I  know  my  heart,  that  is  my  intent!" 

"  But  the  world  don't  see  it  so  !  Herein  the  error,  and  the 
necessity  of  a  struggle  which  shall  enable  the  world  to  see,  at  a 
single  glance,  your  aim.  When  men  can  see  THAT,  they  will  give 
heed  the  quicker  to  the  Message  which  you  bring.  For  men's 
hearts,"  added  his  visitor,  with  a  mournful  smile,  "  are  cold,  sus 
picious,  and  wilfully  incredulous  things.  Who  comes  to  them  in 
Christ's  name,  must  be  simple,  earnest,  and  dignified,  like  Christ, 
or  they  will  none  of  him,  when  he  would  speak  to  them  of  Christ. 
The  man  first — his  message  afterwards.  As  they  are  satisfied 
of  him,  so  give  they  ear  to  the  message  that  he  bears.  Say  they 
find,  by  watching — for  they  will  watch,  yea,  and  suspect  him, 
too,  and  that  for  a  long  time ! — that  he  is  a  mere  utterer  of 
words,  and  that  his  daily  deportment  corresponds  not  with  his 
professions,  they  will  listen  to  him  as  to  one  who  believes  not 
himself  what  he  is  saying, ;  nor  will  they  believe  it  either,  and 
thus  become  lost,  because  they  cannot  and  do  not  believe  in 
him.  But  let  them  once  discover  that  he  is  himself  true — that 
he  calls  up  his  great  eloquence  and  rare  scholarship  simply  to 
lend  beauty  and  attractiveness  to  the  grandeur  of  his  Theme,  and 
not  to  call  their  attention  to  himself,  then  they  give  attent  ear, 
for  the  first  time,  to  the  Message,  and  are  saved,  because  they 
have  at  length  gained  confidence  in  the  man  !  Therefore  it  is, 
when  our  preachers  are  neglectful  or  forgetful  of  this  distinction, 
that  no  blessing  follows  their  labors,  Jet  them  struggle  with 
what  zealousness  and  unceasingness  they  will !" 

"  You  are  right,  brother.     I  see  it,  feel  it,  and  thank  you  for 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT,  317 

the  suggestion.  Rightly  is  it  said  of  you  that  you  never  enter  a 
room  without  .leaving  better  and  juster  thoughts  than  prevailed 
there  before  your  coming.  Again,  I  thank  you  ;  knowing  as  I  do 
that  you  have  only  spoken  for  my  good,  and  that  I  might  see  why 
I  have  not  done  more  of  good  to  others  heretofore.  But  enough, 
I  shall  strive  to  take  advantage  of  your  kind  counsel ;  and  by 
my  deportment  in  the  future  make  some  atonement  to  men  and 
Our  Master  for  my  unintentional  error  in  the  past  !" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  his  visitor,  "  you  make  me  very  happy.  I  knew 
you  would  say  this,  and  resolve  this,  ere  I  came ;  and  it  fills  me 
with  glad  joy  to  learn  that  I  did  not  misjudge  the  spirit  of  my 
pastor.  And  besides,  I  was  assured,  by  our  Lord,  in  answer  to 
a  petition,  that  He  would  be  with  me  in  this  interview  !" 

The  clergyman  looked  with  an  air  of  mingled  love  and  rever 
ence  upon  this  man,  whose  purity,  gentleness,  and  piety  of  heart 
enabled  him  to  hold  a  conscious  intercourse  with  GOD. 

"  When  was  this '?"  he  asked. 

"  A  moment  ere  you  entered,"  returned  Samuel. 

The  brow  of  the  worthy  clergyman  brightened,  and  his  frame 
trembled  with  a  feeling  of  ineffable  delight. 

"  Joy — joy  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Our  Lord  visited  you  in  my 
house  1  Oh  !  does  not  that  prove  that  He,  in  His  great  goodness, 
kindly  remembers  His  unworthy  servant,  and  that  He  will  bless 
my  resolution  ?  Glory  to  Thee !"  he  added,  with  a  grateful 
gesture  ;  "  glory — glory  !  Never  shall  I  cease  to  do  Thy  will — 
nor  to  praise  Thy  holy  name  !" 

"  Let  us  praise  Him  together  !"  cried  Samuel,  with  emotion. 

"  Aye,  as  one  heart !"  said  his  pastor. 

And  both  fell  upon  their  knees,  and  stretching  up  their  hands, 
burst  out — 

"  Glory  to  God  on  high ! 
Let  earth  and  skies  reply, 
Praise  ye  His  name  ; 


318          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

His  love  and  grace  adore, 
Who  all  our  sorrows  bore, 
Sing  loud  for  evermore, 
Worthy  the  Lamb. 

Jesus,  our  Lord  and  God, 
Bore  sin's  tremendous  load, 

Praise  ye  His  name  ; 
Tell  what  His  arm  has  done, 
What  spoils  from  death  He  won : 
Sing  His  great  name  alone, 

Worthy  the  Lamb. 

While  they  around  the  throne, 
Cheerfully  join  in  one, 
Praising  His  name; 
Those  who  have  felt  Hie  blood 
Sealing  their  peace  with  God, 
"Sound  His  dear  fame  abroad, 
Worthy  the  Lamb. 

Join,  all  ye  ransomed  race, 
Our  holy  Lord  to  bless  ; 

Praise  ye  His  name — 
In  Him  Ave  will  rejoice, 
And  make  a  joyful  noise, 
Shouting  with  heart  and  voioe^ 

Worthy  the  Lamb." 


CHAPTER    XXII, 

THE  second  Sabbath  following  the  young  Christian's  interview 
with  the  "  fashionable  preacher"  was  an  important  one  in  the 
history  of  that  gentleman's  ministerial  career,  as  well  as  in  that 
of  his  church.  Samuel  had,  meanwhile,  seen  the  trustees,  to 
gether  with  many  of  the  members  of  the  church,  and  obtained 
a  pledge  from  each  to  lend  their  assistance  to  their  pastor  in  his 
endeavor  to  wake  up  his  people  from  their  surface  piety,  and 
imbue  them  with  a  solemn  sense  of  vitalizing  grace.  The  par 
ties  were  faithful  to  their  promise ;  and  they  were  careful  to  pre 
pare  their  acquaintance  in  the  society  for  the  event.  This  prep 
aration  led,  of  course,  to  considerable  conversation  ;  the  con 
versation  to  religious  discussion;  the  discussion  to  a  general 
resurrection  of  long  dormant  ideas ;  these  to  a  certain  degree  of 
self-examination;  and  this  to  not  a  little  religious  feeling  :  all  of 
which  resulted  in  a  universal  determination  to  sustain  Mr.  En- 
gold  in  his  new  effort  to  arouse  his  congregation  from  their  spir 
itual  palsy. 

The  momentous  day  at  length  came  round.  The  church  was 
filled  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  an  assemblage  of  brilliant,  but, 
in  the  main,  irreligious  intelligences.  The  trustees,  most  of 
whom  possessed  only  a  faint  knowledge  of  their  Redeemer, 
shared  in  the  general  wish  that  the  day  might  not  pass  away  with 
out  blessing — somebody.  As  for  themselves,  they  didn't  think 
that  genuine  piety  would  pay — them  !  They  had  a  notion  that 
';  the  real  thing  was  hardly  the  thing  for — them'*  "  They  were  in 
business;  and  the  pressure  of  competition  IN  business  would  not 

(819) 


320          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

allow  it;  and,  besides,  society  would  scout  at  a  man  who  was 
really  pious."  And  they — they  lived  in  society.  Um  !  Inde 
pendently  of  these  considerations,  they  had  always  professed  to 
be  religious  ;  and  it  would  "  hardly  do"  to  permit  themselves  to 
be  converted,  because  that  would  have  the  effect  of  unmasking 
them,  and  of  showing  them  up  in  their  true  colors  ;  and  so,  on 
the  whole,  they  thought  that,  so  far  as  they  were  themselves 
concerned,  the  "  real  thing1'  wouldn't  pay — just  yet.  One  of  these 
days,  when  their  pecuniary  circumstances — that  is,  their  business 
— should  render  them  a  little  more  independent,  they  meant  to 
give  the  subject  some  serious  consideration  ;  because  then  they 
would  be  "  in  a  position"  to  "  do  as  they  pleased,"  and  to  "  act 
upon  their  convictions."  But,  "  at  present"  they  "  couldn't  afford 
it,"  and,  therefore,  it  "  wouldn't  pay"  And  so,  as  they  could  not 
hope  for  themselves,  they  hoped,  very  heartily,  for — somebody 
else. 

The  members,  whose  piety  was  about  as  deep  as  that  of  the 
trustees,  were  equally  as  concerned  for  the  welfare  of — others. 
They  didn't  think  that  they  were  themselves  in  any  very  great 
spiritual  want,  because  they  were  already  within  the  ark — so  far 
as  the  world  knew.  But  then  they  designed  to  be  really  so — at 
some  future  time.  Just  then,  however,  as  they  were  in  business 
and  society,  and  as  neither  business  nor  society  would  permit  a 
person  to  be  very  pious,  they  thought  that  they  were  about  as 
pious  as  they  could  afford  to  be.  But  there  was  Mr.  Smith, 
who  had  retired  from  business,  and  had  now  nothing  to  do  but 
to  amuse  himself — he  COULD  afford  it,  and  they  really  hoped  he 
would.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Griggs,  a  rich  widow,  who  had 
"  got  oft"  her  daughters,  and  who  had,  therefore,  no  reasonable 
excuse  for  humbugging  the  world  or  herself  any  longer,  she 
MIGHT  take  hold  of  the  real  thing  in  earnest,  and  they  trusted  that 
she  would.  Mr.  Lester,  too  ;  he  was  rich  enough — worth  three 
or  four  millions,  at  least— and  he  could  afford  to  go  into  it,  and 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  321 

they  hoped  and  prayed  that  he  wouldn't  neglect  the  opportunity. 
Mrs.  Allen  could  afford  it  also.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  really 
pious  man,  who  would  give  worlds  for  her  conversion.  She  had 
no  daughters  to  work  off;  was  in  easy  circumstances — worth 
some  eight  hundred  thousand  or  so,  and  with  nothing  on  earth  to 
prevent  her  from  doing  just  as  she  pleased  ;  and  she  might 
throw  off  her  transparent  humbug,  and  take  hold  of  the  real 
thing,  just  as  well  as  not.  They  would,  if  they  were  in  her 
place — quicker  !  As  for  themselves,  they  intended  to  do  so, 
one  of  these  days,  any  how ;  that  is,  when  they  were  a  little 
richer,  a  little  older,  and  a  little  more  tired  of  the  humbug  of 
society.  Why,  then,  couldn't  the  Smiths,  the  Griggses,  the  Les- 
ters,  and  the  Aliens  pluck  up,  as  they  designed  to  do  when  they 
should  be  as  rich  and  old  as  the  Smiths,  the  Griggses,  the  Les- 
ters,  and  the  Aliens,  and  as  every  really  sincere  person  who  was 
old  enough,  and  rich  enough  to  afford  it,  ought  to  do  ? 

As  for  the  retired  Mr.  Smith  himself,  he  thought,  now  that  he 
was  rich  and  could  afford  to  do  as  he  pleased,  that  he  would 
amuse  himself  by  studying  society.  He  opined  that  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  take  hold  of  the  real  thing  after  he  had  got 
through  with  his  amusements.  At  present,  however,  the  surface 
article  would  "  answer  his  purpose"  very  well.  The  real  thing 
might  interfere  with  his  plans,  and  hurt  him  ;  and  as  he  was  now 
in  the  possession  and  enjoyment  of  his  plum,  he  didn't  want  to 
be  interfered  with,  nor  hurt,  either.  Still,  as  he  felt  an  interest 
in  the  Lord's  business,  he  was  not  "  unwilling"  to  "  lend  his  influ 
ence"  to  the  Holy  Spirit  in  "  pushing  things  on." 

Mrs.  Griggs  thought  that,  now  that  she  had  got  off  her  daugh 
ters,  the  next  best  thing  she  could  do  would  be  to  get  herself  off. 
She  had  several  gentlemen  in  her  eye,  and  as  she  was  blessed 
with  a  large  stock  of  self-confidence,  she  flattered  herself  that 
she  could  wing  eit  ler  one  of  them,  easily,  when  she  had  once 
made  up  her  mind  which  to  aim  for.  After  that  should  be  ac- 
14* 


322         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

complished,  she  proposed  to  throw  aside  her  convenient  piety, 
and  embrace  the  genuine  article  with  all  her  heart.  To  be  sure 
she  felt  a  lively  interest  in  her  Redeemer's  affairs,  and  she  would 
cheerfully  do  all  she  could,  so  far  as  her  influence  would  go,  to 
advance  them ;  but  she  had  her  own  affairs  to  look  after,  and  she 
should,  of  course,  have  to  give  them  "  the  preference."  There 
were  the  Townsends,  however :  they  had  no  special  object  in  the 
way,  and  they  might  as  well  drop  their  surface  humbug  as  not, 
and  she  would  be  glad  to  see  them  do  it.  A  little  of  the  real 
thing  would  do  them  good.  And  the  Johnsons,  too — they  were 
in  want  of  genuine  religion  about  as  much  as  anybody  she 
could  name;  and  if  they  would  only  consent  to  "lake  it  up,"  she 
felt  quite  sure  that  it  would  be  a  great  blessing,  not  only  to 
themselves,  but  to  the  world. 

Mr.  Lester  had  an  idea  that  three  or  four  millions  were  no 
thing.  If  he  had  eight,  now,  or  even  six,  he  thought  that  he 
might  perhaps  persuade  himself  to  drop  his  easy  piety,  and  take 
hold  of  the  real  thing  with  his  whole  heart.  But  at  present,  he 
couldn't  afford  it.  He  was  too  poor.  Besides,  if  he  should  at 
tempt  to  do  so,  he  couldn't  succeed.  His  heart  was  upon  his 
money,  and  upon  the  three  or  four  other  millions  in  perspective. 
He  thought  that  some  of  the  young  men  might  yield  to  what 
ever  influence  should  come  down  from  above — easily.  They  had 
no  money,  and  no  prospect  of  any — that  is,  in  comparison  with 
amounts  like  his.  Therefore,  having  nothing  to  give  up,  no  sac 
rifices  to  make,  they  might  as  well  take  hold  of  the  real  thing 
as  not.  He  would,  if  he  was  in  their  position — right  quickly. 

Mrs.  Allen  wasn't  tired  enough  of  the  world  yet,  to  take  hold 
of  religion  in  earnest.  She  found  herself  comfortable.  Society's 
piety  agreed  with  her  very  well — for  the  present;  she  had  no 
desire  to  go  over  to  the  real  thing — just  yet.  She  meant  to  do 
so,  at  some  future  day,  but  that  day  had  not  yet  dawned.  But, 
of  course,  it  would  corno  one  of  these  days,  and  when  it  came 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          323 

she  meant  to  be  prepared  for  it.  But  at  present  she  felt  no  dis 
position  to  depart  from  her  usual  course.  She  liked  society,  and 
society's  dear,  easy  ways,  too  well  for  that.  But  then  all  peo 
ple  were  not  like  her.  Some  people  needed  real  piety  more  than 
others.  There  was  Mrs.  Jenkins,  for  instance,  and  Mrs.  De  Witt 
too.  A  little  genuine  religion  wouldn't  hurt  them  a  bit.  But  as 
for  herself,  she  didn't  see  any  absolute  necessity  of  it,  just  then ; 
and  until  she  did,  she  thought  she  could  get  along  very  well  with 
the  kind  of  piety  that  she  had. 

The  Townsends  didn't  know  what  to  think.  They  had  an 
impression  that  there  might  be  something  in  religion,  but  they 
were  not  sure.  Of  course  they  affected  to  believe  in  it — every 
body  did — but  they  were  not  so  certain  that  it  wasn't  considera 
ble  of  a  humbug,  after  all.  Those  who  pretended  to  believe  in 
it  most,  were,  so  far  as  they  knew,  specious  rascals,  who  only 
used  it — for  their  own  purposes.  Still  they  were  not  unwilling  to 
see  their  acquaintance  take  hold  of  it ;  but  as  for  themselves, 
they  didn't  think  that  it  would  hardly  pay. 

The  Johnsons  didn't  give  themselves  any  anxiety  about  the 
matter  at  all.  While  they  did  not  absolutely  disbelieve  in 
religion,  they  had  an  idea  that  it  "  wouldn't  answer"  for  them  to 
go  into  it  any  further  than  they  had  already.  It  "  wouldn't  du." 
The  old  gentleman's  business — money  "exchanging"  and  selling 
lottery  tickets  on  the  sly — wouldn't  admit  of  it.  So  where  was 
the  use  of  "  touching  it  T'  Nevertheless,  as  the  old  gentleman 
had  a  "  good  feeling"  for  the  "  Church,"  he  had  "  no  objections"  to 
seeing  a  better  state  of  things  in  it.  He  "  deplored"  surface 
piety  as  much  as  any  man  ;  but  what  could  he  do  1  If  he  should 
take  hold  of  the  real  thing,  his  conscience  wouldn't  permit  him 
to  continue  selling  policy  tickets ;  and  what  would  become  of 
him  and  of  his  family,  if  he  were  to  give  that  up  1  No  ;  it 
wouldn't  do.  Surface  piety  was  "  about  as  far"  as  he  could  go, 
or  h's  family  either.  Nevertheless,  he  lived  in  hope  that  a  few 


324  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THK  LEFT. 

more  years  would  put  him  in  a  position  to  do  as  he  liked ;  and 
when  that  time  came  round,  he  meant  to  take  hold  of  the  real 
thing  like  a  man,  and  persuade  his  family  into  the  same  course 
also.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  was  "  quite  willing"  that  other  peo 
ple  should  do  just  as  they  pleased,  in  the  matter ;  nay,  more — 
he  would  "  encourage"  them  and  religion  too,  all  he  could,  "  con 
veniently." 

The  unconverted  pew-renters,  never  having  put  on  the  robes 
of  convenient  piety,  were  considering  whether  they  could  afford 
to  receive  the  HoJy  Spirit,  in  case  it  should  conclude  to  visit 
them !  They  had  their  opinion  of  the  members'  piety,  and 
thought  that  if  they  should  themselves  be  influenced  into  an 
open  profession  of  religion,  that  their  piety  would  be  of  a  little 
different  character  to  that  of  the  pretentious  "  members."  But 
upon  "  looking  at  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings,"  they  did  not  be 
lieve  that  they  could  afford  to  be  very  pious — just  yet.  Business 
wouldn't  allow  it — Society  wouldn't  allow  it ;  and  if  Business 
and  Society  wouldn't,  what  WOULD  1  To  be  sure,  they  could 
easily  afford  to  be  as  pious  as  the  members,  but  then  they  didn't 
regard  that  kind  of  piety  as  of  any  very  great  importance.  It  is 
true  it  might  help  one  some  in  business,  but  not  very  much — and 
a  little  in  society,  too,  but  not  so  very  greatly,  seeing  that  they 
were  already  pretty  well  established  in  the  one  and  tolerably 
well  received  in  the  other.  On  the  whole,  they  didn't  think  it 
was  much  of  an  object !  In  fact,  with  their  view  of  what  religion 
DEMANDED  of  its  professors,  they  were  inclined  to  believe  that 
they  had  no  very  great  desire  to  become  professors — just  at  pres 
ent.  Still  they  thought  that  it  would  be  a  "  capital  thing"  for 
certain  of  their  fellow  pew-renters,  and  particularly  for  many 
of  the  members,  to  be  "  touched  from  On  High."  They — the 
members — wanted  "something  of  that  kind"  very  much. 

The  strangers — and  there  were  many  of  them — having  come 
simply  out  of  curiosity,  were  thero  to  "  take  the  chances.''  They 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.  325 

anticipated  "  something  rich,"  because  their  friends  among  the 
members  and  pew-renters  had  informed  them  that  Mr.  Engold — 
of  whose  eloquence  and  finished  rhetoric  they  had  often  heard — 
was  going  to  make  a  "  great  effort"  on  that  Sabbath,  and  they 
wanted  all  their  friends  to  be  present : — not  so  much  for  any 
great  good  that  might  come  of  it,  but  just  to  let  their  friends  see 
what  a  "  powerful  man"  their  pastor  was  when  he  felt  disposed 
to  u  let  himself  out."  And  so  the  friends — that  is  to  say,  the 
strangers — had  come  to  see.  Mr.  Engold  "  let  himself  out." 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  there  were  many  in  the  congre 
gation  who  had  given  no  thought  to  the  matter  at  all,  and  who, 
like  the  strangers,  were  ready  to  "  take  the  chances."  If  the  ser 
mon  should  prove  a  rouser,  well ;  if  it  should  elicit  their  ad 
miration,  well ;  if  it  should  wake  them  up,  well ;  if  it  should 
storm  their  hearts,  and  set  them  in  flame,  well;  and  if  it 
should  only  serve — although  they  had  their  doubts  of  that — 
to  put  them  into  a  quiet  doze — well. 

And  yet  all  hoped  that  good  would  result  from  the  discourse 
to — somebody. 

The  Townsends  were  in  their  pew,  looking  very  pious,  and 
aristocratically  humble. 

Isabella  Landon,  knowing  that  it  was  going  to  be  a  great  day 
in  the  church — that  is  to  say,  that  an  unusual  number  of  stran 
gers  would  be  there — and  having  spent  three  hours  at  her  toilet, 
in  anticipation  of  several  new  conquests,  was  looking  as  killingly 
meek  and  interestingly  pious  as  a  young  lady  could  be  expected 
to  look,  who  had  nothing  in  life  to  do  except  to  patronize  herself 
and  "  assist"  society  in  its  general  exhibitions. 

Miriam  Selden — who,  poor,  unsophisticated  thing !  always 
thought  that  God's  house  was  the  last  place  in  the  world  in  which 
to  make  a  "  display" — was  so  neatly  but  plainly  dressed,  that  she 
might  easily  have  passed  for  some  obscure  person  who  had  got 


326          WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THP:  LEFT. 

into  the  church  either  by  mistake,  or  through  the  carelessness  c  f 
the  sexton. 

Samuel  was  making  himself  useful  in  helping  strangers  to 
seats,  and  in  tranquillizing  some  late  members  and  pew-renters 
whose  slips  had  been  coolly  taken  possession  of  by  certain  earlier 
individuals,  who,  having  inherited  an  unusual  share  of  self-confi 
dence,  had  no  notion  of  waiting  to  be  invited,  but  walked  right 
in,  seated  themselves  comfortably,  and  closing  the  door,  looked 
around  them  with  an  air  of  easy  independence  and  ineffable 
satisfaction. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  opening  of  the  morning  ser 
vice,  all  eyes  were  turned  anxiously  towards  the  pulpit.  But 
the  pastor  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  Could  the  congre 
gation  have  looked  into  the  ante-room,  they  would  have  seen 
him  upon  his  knees,  fervently  imploring  his  Master  to  be  with 
him  in  his  approaching  effort  to  penetrate  the  hearts  of  those  of 
his  charge  who  were  "  too  poor"  to  afford  the  Saviour  of  men  a 
single  solemn  thought,  when  they  desired  so  much  for  them 
selves. 

At  length  there  was  a  fluttering  of  silks  and  feathers  in  the 
brilliant  auditory ;  a  general  smile  of  mingled  joy,  pride,  and 
satisfaction ;  a  quick,  hurried  breathing  of  enthusiastic  hearts  ; 
a  low  whisper  of  "There  he  is  !"  and — 

Mr.  Engold  was  in  the  pulpit. 

He  was  pale,  but  self-possessed.  As  he  rose,  in  prayer,  a 
thrill  of  hopefulness  and  affection  swept  through  the  congrega 
tion.  The  impressiveness  of  his  air,  the  earnestness  and  humility 
of  his  manner,  the  scholarly  tone  of  his  features,  the  manly 
grandeur  of  his  general  deportment,  and  the  mild  benignity  of 
his  glance,  subdued  all  hearts,  like  an  invisible  power,  and  bowed 
them  into  a,  to  them,  novel  feeling — meekness. 

The  clergyman  spoke ;  and  every  heart  was  touched  as  with 
an  electric  shock :  for  his  tone  and  manner  told  his  auditors  that 


WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          327 

he  was  communing  with  JEHOVAH  like  one  who  was  conscious 
WHOM  he  was  addressing  ! 

A  sense  of  awe,  humility,  and  human  impotence  crept  over 
the  assemblage. 

A  solemn  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  voice  of  the  petitioner, 
reigned  throughout  the  temple. 

Not  one  in  all  the  throng,  that  did  not  feel  the  sacredness  of 
the  place. 

It  was  a  touching,  contrite,  and  humble  prayer — without  a 
solitary  grain  of  affectation,  heaviness,  mannerism,  or  monotony, 
for  the  smallest  or  lightest  mind  to  carp  at. 

It  suggested  nothing  but  itself — a  prayer  from  an  humble 
heart  to  its  dear  Creator ! 

It  was  not  with  the  artlessness  of  a  child — but  the  appeal  of 
a  great  manly  heart  and  a  noble  intellect  bowed  down  to  a  sense 
of  their  own  nothingness  when  in  the  presence  of  Almighty 
GOD. 

A  stirring,  thrilling,  awe-subduing  prayer — which  made  beauty 
forget  her  beauty,  wealth  its  millions  and  its  pride,  ambition  its 
feverish  dream,  disappointment  its  sorrow,  envy  its  bitterness, 
and  display  its  littleness. 

At  its  close,  the  assembly  experienced  a  grateful  sense  of 
relief:  they  felt  that  for  that  brief  season  of  sincere  humility 
they  had  been  rewarded  by  a  refreshing  shower  from  On  High ! 

The  hymn  that  followed  was  not,  as  formerly,  confined  alone 
to  the  choir.  Every  voice  joined  in  it  with  spontaneous  and 
enthusiastic  acclaim. 

The  sermon  was  a  bold,  eloquent,  and  startling  picture  of 
man's  relations  to  his  Creator.  It  was  presented  with  all  the 
earnestness  of  the  ambassador,  all  the  eloquence  of  the  man,  and 
all  the  cultivated  rhetoric  of  the  student.  Ere  long,  the  auditors 
lost  sight  of  the  scholar,  the  man,  and  the.  ambassador :  one  by 
one  they  disappeared  from  their  minds,  which  then  became  ab- 


328          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

sorbed  by  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  Theme.      From  that 
moment  they  beheld  but  three  objects  : 

Their  Maker's  greatness ; 

Their  Redeemer's  goodness ; 

Their  own  unworthiness. 

From  that  moment  loomed  up  before  them  the  startling  and 
unflattering  facts  : 

That  THE  LAW  of  God  is  absolute  and  pitiless,  but  that — it 
must  be  met  ; 

That  it  can  only  be  met  by  faith  in  the  Redeemer,  and  by 
thorough  and  earnest  repentance  ; 

That  this  faith  must  be  given,  and  this  repentance  be  worked 
out  by  men  during  life  ; 

That  at  death  the  chances  of  mercy  cease ; 

That  there  is  no  repentance  after  death ; 

That  whoso  neglects  or  refuses  to  comply  with  the  require 
ments  of  THE  LAW,  while  in  the  flesh,  thereby  pronounces  his 
own  condemnation,  because 

THE  LAW  must  be  met ! 

And  from  that  moment  this  haughty,  supercilious,  self-suffi 
cient  throng  forgot  their  wealth,  their  exclusiveness,  their  pom 
pous  littleness,  and  their  inability  to  "  afford"  the  "real  thing." 
They  forget  everything  but  their  Maker's  greatness,  their  Re 
deemer's  goodness,  their  own  sinfulness,  and — the  pitiless  rigor 
of  THE  LAW  !  O.  how  for  one  long  hour  they  sighed,  and  wept, 
and  trembled  over  their  previous  paltry  views  !  How  for  one 
long  hour  they  listened  to  The  Message  as  it  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  preacher !  How  for  one  long  hour  the  thunders  of  Sinai 
rattled  through  their  quaking  hearts,  shook  the  starch  out  of 
their  proud  blood,  and  the  fire  from  their  insolent  eyes !  How 
for  one  long  hour  the  members  took  shame  for  their  surface 
piety,  the  pew-renters  for  their  want  of  piety,  the  strangers  for  their 
churchlessness,  the  retired  Smiths  for  their  selfishness,  the  Mrs. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          329 

Griggs  for  their  unworthiness,  the  Lesters  for  their  greediness, 
and  the  Mrs.  Aliens  for  their  littleness !  How  for  one  long  hour 
all  forgot  whether  they  could,  or  could  not,  afford  to  patronize 
their — REDEEMER  ! 

At  length  the  voice  of  the  envoy  ceased  ;  the  wrapped  throng 
drew  a  long  breath,  and — each  forgot  to  look  at  his  neighbor. 

The  doxology — ah !  how  soft  and  broken  were  the  voices  of 
the  flaring  assemblage  as  they  joined  in  that ! 

And  how  meekly  and  reverently  all  bowed  their  proud  heads 
during  the  benediction ! 

And  then,  how,  like  mean,  guilty  things,  they  slunk  from  the 
sanctuary  ! 

But,  not  all — no,  not  all ! 

Here  and  there,  still  remaining  in  their  seats — their  heads 
bowed  upon  their  breasts,  or  else  upon  the  pew-tops — their 
frames  moving  convulsively — tears  of  shame,  and  grief,  and 
wretchedness  gliding  down  their  pale  cheeks,  were  many  in  peni 
tential  agony.  A  few  of  them  in  life's  bright  spring-time  ;  some 
in  its  sweet  summer ;  and  others  in  the  various  stages  of  autumn. 
Among  them  the  veriest  veterans  in  society's  convenient  piety, 
society's  easy  indifference,  and  society's  smiling  heartlessness. 
And — of  all  the  world ! — Mr.  Smith,  Mrs.  Griggs,  Mr.  Lester, 
Mrs.  Allen,  and  Mr.  Johnson,  with  two  score  others  of  their 
kind,  and  one  score  more  of  weepers  who  had  never,  until  then. 
given  a  single  honest  thought  to  aught  but — themselves! 

The  pastor — his  eyes  dewy  and  his  voice  tremulous  ! — invited 
them  all  to  the  altar,  and  all  went  forward,  but — two  ! 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Townsend  ! 

The  Holy  Spirit,  in  its  descent,  had  looked  upon  them  kindly, 
and  bathed  them,  among  others,  in  the  rich  sunshine  of  its  smile  ; 
but — they  resisted.  They  wept,  but — resisted. 

"  Dear  aunt,"  whispered  a  gentle  voice  imploringly,  "  be  brave 


830          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT 

— be  firm.  Come  forward — God  will  make  you  happy.  Struggle 
not  against  Him.  Our  Prince  waits  to  bless  you  I" 

No  reply. 

"  Dear  friend,"  whispered  Samuel,  gently,  in  the  ear  of  his 
employer,  "  falter  not — resist  not  the  Holy  Ghost.  Else,  come 
forward,  and  partake  of  the  rich  blessing  which  is  about  to  de 
scend  upon  the  brave  hearts  kneeling  at  the  altar.  Come,  and 
enter  upon  a  new  existence.  Come,  and  peace  will  reign  hence 
forth  in  your  heart.  Come,  Jesus  is  waiting.  Come,  and  be 
happy !" 

No  reply. 

The  young  Christian  moved  away  with  an  air  of  pain  towards 
the  altar,  and  then  his  features  became  radiant  with  indescriba 
ble  delight,  as  he  beheld  the  small  multitude  of  brave  hearts  that 
were  kneeling  there. 

Here  let  us  pause ;  for  there  are  things  which  may  be  seen 
and  felt,  but — not  told. 

Uncover,  sir — uncover  and  halt  gently,  you  who  are  passing 
by  ;  for  this  temple  is  now  hallowed  and  made  holy  by  a  visita 
tion  from  On  High.  Look  reverently--; feel  reverently.  For — 
this  in  your  ear ! — within  are  three-score  and  five  of  humble 
penitents,  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  JESUS  !  Three-score  and  five 
of  humble  penitents,  saluting  their  Saviour,  in  sincerity  and 
humility,  for  the  first  time !  Three-score  and  five  of  humble 
penitents — young,  middle-aged,  and  gray-haired — are  sobbing  ; 
sobbing,  sir — think  of  that.  Great  manly  and  womanly  hearts — 
sobbing  and  crying,  like  little  children  over  some  very  joyful  or 
heart-breaking  thing.  And  struggling,  too — many  of  them 
fiercely,  but  all  of  them  earnestly — with  Evil,  the  greatest  enemy 
of  all  their  lives,  and  of  yours  and  mine,  too,  sir- — and  calling 
on  their  Prince  for  help,  and  getting  it,  and  promptly,  too,  and 
kindly :  for  who  called  ever  upon  HIM  in  vain  ? 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          331 

Three-score  and  five  of  thinking,  reasoning  beings  upon  their 
knees  !  Warms  it  not  your  heart  with  solemn,  stirring  fervor  ? 
Shakes  it  not  your  blood,  heating  it  and  expanding  it  till  every 
vein  seems  as  if  about  to  burst  with  proud,  grateful  joy  ]  Three 
score  and  five  upon  their  knees  to  HIM,  the  only  one  in  all  the 
universe  to  whom  that  posture's  due.  and  who  never  lets  His 
people  rise 'again  until  He  has  male  them  happier,  by  more  than 
twice  ten  thousand  times,  than  they  were  before  they  bent  them 
down.  Three-score  and  five — shout,  shout ! — for  each  and  all  of 
them  are  now  registered  Above  ;  mansions  are  even  now  pre 
paring  for  them  There  ;  and  cherubim  and  seraphim  are  rejoic 
ing  o'er  them,  There ;  and  they  will  sleep  to-night  the  peace- 
fuller  for  this,  and  rise  again  the  better  for  it  on  the  morrow ; 
and  have  new  thoughts,  and  better  and  kinder  ones,  for  it,  too  ; 
and  they'll  march  along  life's  pathway,  from  this  hour,  with  a 
firmer  and  surer  step  ;  and  be  ever,  from  this  day,  so  full  of  joy 
and  comfort,  so  abounding  in  hope,  confidence,  and  gladness, 
that  you  will  know  them  for  what  they  are — 

Of  the  Ransomed — the  REDEEMED  ! 


CHAPTER     XXIII. 

THE  good  work  went  on.  For  many  weeks  it  was  like  the 
gathering  in  of  a  great  harvest.  Members,  pew-renters,  and 
strangers  awoke  in  large  numbers,  repented,  and  found  peace. 
Society's  Church  lessened  day  by  day,  Christ's  as  rapidly  filled 
up.  It  was  a  season  of  great  joy  to  many ;  but  not  to  all. 
Society's  Church  neither  wanted  a  too  familiar  acquaintance  with 
The  Redeemer,  nor  would  accept  it.  At  first  they  regarded  the 
revival  with  favor.  It  was  a  novelty  ;  it  would  amuse  them  ;  it 
would  interest  them  ;  it  would  pass  away,  in  a  short  time, 
like  any  other  novelty;  and  it  would  enable  them — Society's 
party — to  say,  complacently,  that  they  were  pleased  with  it, 
because  it  gave  them  an  opportunity  to  evince  their  interest  in 
The  Church.  But  they  discovered,  at  length,  and  to  their  horror, 
that  "  the  thing"  was  getting  to  be  "  utterly  unbearable."  In 
stead  of  passing  away  in  a  few  days,  it  CONTINUED — gathering 
new  life  and  fresh  strength  at  every  step,  and  there  was  no 
telling  when  or  where  it  would  end.  This  was  all  well  enough 
for  those  who  desired  to  be  converted,  and  to  take  hold  of  the 
real  thing;  but  as  for  themselves,  they  had  no  such  wish;  they 
were  satisfied  as  they  were  ;  they  didn't  want  so  many  strangers 
there  every  Sunday ;  and  they  did  want  the  "  agitation*'  brought  to 
a  close.  But  on  finding  that  their  desire  was  by  no  means  likely 
to  be  heeded  or  gratified,  they  came  out,  took  a  bold,  firm  stand, 
and  declared  that  "  They  wouldn't  put  up  with  '  the  nonsense' 
any  longer."  They  styled  themselves  The  Exclusives,  called  the 
revival  The  New  Movement,  and  stigmatized  the  converts  as  The 
New  People.  • 

(Mr) 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          333 

The  Exclusives  were,  however,  in  a  glorious  minority — the 
New  People  outfigured  them  two  to  one.  But,  no  matter  ;  they 
flattered  themselves  that  they  made  up  in  consequence  and  re 
spectability  for  what  they  lacked  in  number. 

The  New  People  went  on,  meanwhile,  as  if  there  were  no  such 
individuals  as  Exclusives,  or  "  exclusive"  sentiments  in  the  world. 
The  pastor  continued  to  do  the  will  of  Him  who  sent  him,  and 
the  Car  of  Grace  rolled  on  in  triumph. 

The  Exclusives  were  fierce,  supercilious,  and  scornful.  They 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  New  People.  They  had  no 
sympathy  with  the  New  Movement.  They  disliked  the  pastor's 
new  style  of  preaching.  They  couldn't  stand  it,  and  wouldn't. 
It  "  disturbed  them  ;"  and  they  "  wouldn't  be  disturbed."  Some 
got  enraged,  and  cleared  out  altogether ;  declaring,  as  they  de 
parted,  that  "they  wouldn't  patronize  any  church  where  the  society 
was  not  more  select."  Others  remained,  affirming,  through  their 
leader,  a  Mr.  Wells,  a  retired  army  officer,  who  was  very  rich, 
very  proud,  very  obstinate,  and  very  exclusive,  "  that  they  would 
Hot  submit  to  aggression  ;  that  they  would  not  yield  an  inch  fro 
the  enemy — the  New  People  ;  that  they  would  maintain  their 
rights ;  and  that  they  would  break  up  the  New  Movement,  and 
kick  out  the  disturbers,  or  perish."  But  notwithstanding  the 
opposition  of  The  Exclusives,  the  New  Movement  continued  to 
prosper,  and  the  New  People  to  increase.  The  Exclusives 
waxed  wroth ;  some  followed  the  example  of  their  predecessors, 
and  retired  in  disgust ;  but  those  whose  pride  inspired  them  to 
remagi,  formed  still  a  goodly  body.  What  most  enraged  them 
was  the  fact  that  every  time  a  pew  was  thrown  up  by  a  retiring 
member  of  their  party,  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  strangers  in  the 
ranks  of  the  New  People  stepped  forward  with  alacrity,  and 
vied  with  each  other,  in  their  mild,  brotherly  way,  for  the  privi-  • 
lege  of  obtaining  it.  The  Exclusives  swelle4  and  reddened  with 
indignation. 


334:          WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

But,  some  how  or  other — one  would  hardly  believe  it,  but 
things  will  work  very  oddly,  now  and  then ! — The  HOLY  SPIRIT 
was  stronger  than  the  Exclusives  ;  and  its  work  went  on  in  spite 
of  all  the  latter  could  do  to  arrest  it.  In  less  than  six  months  from 
the  commencement  of  the  revival,  nearly  two-thirds  of  the  old 
surface  members  and  pew-renters  had  taken  up  arms  for  their 
Redeemer;  not  passively,  but  with  energy  and  enthusiasm.  All 
this,  in  the  estimation  of  the  Society  Christians,  was  exceedingly 
aggravating.  But  worse  followed.  They  wanted  the  Exclusives 
to  come  over  to  Christ  also.  "  Come,  and  partake  of  our  great 
happiness!"  they  exclaimed.  "  Our  Prince  is  a  kinder  Master 
than  Society's,  and  makes  His  people  happier.  Come — do !" 
Now,  language  and  conduct  like  this  were  perfectly  exasperating 
to  the  Exclusives.  They  didn't  go  to  church  for  any  such  pur 
pose.  What  they  wanted  was — to  be  let  alone ;  and  if  the  New 
People  wouldn't  let  them  alone,  and  respect  their  quiet,  dignity, 
and  exclusiveness,  they  would  take  steps  to  compel  them.  Now, 
was  there  ever  anything  more  outrageous  1  To  disturb  nice, 
quiet,  respectable  people  like  them  !  It  was  shameful — positively 
shocking ! 

But  if  the  New  People  would  only  have  stopped  here.  But 
they  wouldn't — no,  they  wouldn't.  They  were  too  "  low,"  too 
"  vulgar"  for  that !  Instead  of  being  satisfied  with  their  own 
happiness,  they  had  a  grovelling  desire  to  see  everybody  else 
happy  as  well.  Instead  of  minding  their  own  business,  like 
respectable,  well-bred  persons,  they  acquired  a  propensity  for 
meddling  with  other  people's  affairs.  "  Have  you  become  ac 
quainted  yet  with  our  dear  Princxif  they  would  impudently 
inquire  of  all  their  friends  and  neighbors;  "if  not — do  como 
with  us,  and  see  how  good,  how  kind  a  friend  He  is,  and  how 
full  of  joy  He  makes  all  who  call  on  Him.  Do  come  !"  Now, 
what  business  was  it  to  these  impertinent  meddlers,  whether 
their  friends  and  neighbors  were  happy  or  not1?  Isn't  this  a 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.         335, 

free  country '?  And  hasn't  a  man  a  perfect  right  to  do  as  he 
likes — and  be  as  happy  or  miserable  as  he  pleases  1  It's  a  pretty 
state  of  things,  when  a  man's  private  affairs  are  to  be  meddled 
with  in  this  insolent  manner !  Isn't  a  man's  house  his  castle  ? 
Isn't  it  sacred  from  intrusion  any  longer  ?  And  can't  he  go  to 
church,  and  sit  down  in  his  own  pew,  without  being  exposed  to 
impertinent  inquiries,  or  impertinent  interlopers,  any  more? 
Answer  these  questions — will  you  1  What  is  it  your  business 
whether  I  have  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  The  Saviour  or  no  ? 
He  died  for  all  men — didn't  He1?  For  me,  as  well  as  for  you  1 
Come,  sir — go  away  from  here,  with  your  impertinence.  Clear 
out! 

It  was  that  Samuel  who  started  this  gratuitous  meddling,  and 
upon  him  rests  all  the  blame  and  the  shame  of  it! 

"  If,"  observed  Mr.  Wells,  as  the  Exclusives  discussed  their 
grievances  among  themselves,  "that  young  emissary  of  mischief 
had  never  been  admitted  into  our  church,  we  should  have  had 
none  of  this.  Everything  would  now  be  going  on  smoothly, 
orderly,  and  respectably !" 

And  the  ex-army  officer  fumed  and  looked  daggers. 

"  Right !"  observed  Mr.  Eastlake,  another  of  the  Society  party. 
"And  it  is  well  for  him  that  he  is  no  longer  among  us,  or  I 
should  move  for  his  expulsion !  But  it's  always  the  way  with 
these  young  religious  enthusiasts.  Let  one  of  them  once  get  into 
a  respectable  church,  and  its  peace,  order,  and  respectability  are 
gone  forever !" 

"They  are  never  easy,"  sneered  a  third,  "until  they  have 
got  everybody  by  the  ears,  or  on  the  stool  of  repentance,  which 
is  the  same  thing  !" 

"  For  my  part,"  said  another,  a  cotton-broker,  "  I  was  always 
fearful  of  that  young  man.  You  all,  at  that  time,  called  him  a  saint 
— but  /  didn't !  No.  I  perceived  danger  in  him — he  carried 


,336          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

it  in  his  eyes  ! — the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him  !  It  is  well  he  :B 
gone !" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  ex-army  officer,  "  but  he  has  left  two  hundred 
of  his  like  behind  him.  There's  hardly  a  man  among  the  enemy 
— the  New  People — that  isn't  imbued  with  his  meddling  spirit !" 

The  New  People  certainly  did  behave  most  shamefully. 
Instead  of  being  satisfied,  like  decent,  respectable  persons,  with 
hearing  The  Message  themselves,  and  taking  advantage  of  it,  and 
enjoying  it  nicely,  comfortably,  selfishly,  sensibly,  and  exclu 
sively,  when  they  alone  paid  for  it — they  must  go  around,  even 
ings,  among  their  friends,  and  invite  them  to  come  and  hear  it, 
too !  Nay,  they  even  stooped  so  low  as  to  yield  up  their  own 
pews  to  strangers  and  invitees,  and  were  mean  and  spiritless 
enough  to  sit  or  stand  themselves,  anywhere — everywhere — 
wherever  they  could  !  Could  anything  exceed  that  ?  Did  one 
ever  hear  or  see  of  anything  so  "low,"  "shocking,"  and  "out 
rageous?"  It  made  the  Exclusives  "fairly  sick!"  But  there 
was  still  a  lower  deep  for  these  abominable  wretches.  They 
even  carried  their  enormity  so  far,  at  times,  as  to  ask  the  Exclu 
sives  to  be  "  kind  enough  to  make  room"  in  THEIR  pews  for 
some  of  these  "  strangers,  loafers,  and  vagabonds,"  "  whom  no 
body  knew,"  and  "  whom  nobody  wanted  to  know !"  Now, 
reader,  we  put  it  to  you  as  a  decent  man  or  woman — as  one  who 
knows  the  meaning  of  good  breeding  and  individual  rights — did 
you  ever,  in  all  your  life,  hear  of  such  a  solemn  outrage  ?  Isn't 
it  almost  enough  to  tempt  one  to  publicly  protest  against  the  in 
solence  of  high-handed  fanaticism  1  To  be  sure,  the  "  loafers  and 
vagabonds"  dressed  well  enough,  looked  well  enough,  and 
behaved  well  enough.  But  what  then  1  Were  these  any 
reasons  why  they — the  Exclusives — should  let  them  into  their 
pews,  and  incommode  themselves  ?  Now,  reader!  now — be  can 
did  !  We  put  it  to  you,  as  a  reasoning,  thinking,  respectable 
person ! 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          337 

Mr.  Eastlake  was  dignifiedly  indignant — and  very  properly ! 
Don't  you  say  so  ]  He  spoke  out  like  a  man — like  an  Exclusive ! 
He  declared,  at  a  church-meeting,  one  evening,  "  that  when  he 
rented  a  pew  in  a  church,  he  rented  it  for  himself,  and  not  for 
other  people.  More  than  that — he  didn't  mean  that  other  people 
should  have  the  use  of  his  pew  while  it  was  his.  (Wasn't  that 
spunky1?)  When  his  year  should  expire,  he  was  perfectly 
willing  that  the  New  People  should  take  the  pew,  and  do  just 
what  they  pleased  with.it.  But  till  then,  he  meant  to  hold  on 
to  his  own  !" 

Hurrah  for  the  Exclusives  !     Hurrah — hurrah — hurrah ! 

Mr.  Benedick  "  was  grieved  to  say,  that  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  New  Movement.  It  disturbed  his  equanimity,  and  he — 
didn't  like  it.  When  he  rented  his  pew,  everything  was  orderly, 
respectable,  and  exclusive.  (Hear,  hear.)  Everybody  attended 
to  their  own  affairs.  The  pastor  was  quiet,  graceful,  and  mild. 
There  was  no  commotion,  no  intrusion.  Everything  went  on 
harmoniously.  But  the  New  Movement  and  the  New  People 
had  changed  all  this.  In  fact,  everything  had  undergone  a  revo 
lution.  The  church  was  crowded  every  Sabbath,  with  strangers, 
of  whose  antecedents  or  standing  in  society  nobody  knew  any 
thing.  (Hear,  hear.)  They  might  be  respectable,  and  then 
again  they  might  not.  Be  couldn't  and  wouldn't  take  it  upon 
him  to  say.  (Sensation.)  But  of  one  thing  he  was  certain  :  He 
knew  nothing  of  them  himself,  he  didn't  wish  to  know  anything 
of  them,  and  what  was  more,  he  wouldn't  associate  with  them. 
(Loud  applause — reader,  join  in.)  The  pastor,  too,  displeased 
him.  He  didn't  enjoy  him  as  he  used  to,  prior  to  the  New  Move 
ment.  7%m,  Mr.  Engold  preached  to  suit  him.  At  present, 
and  ever  since  the  New  Movement,  he  didn't ;  and  that  was  the 
long  and  the  short  of  it.  He — Mr.  Benedick — was  a  business 
man,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  speak  out,  frankly  and  boldly, 
just  what  he  thought.  His  frankness  might  be  regarded  by 
others  as  a  weakness ;  if  so,  all  he  had  to  say  was,  that  he  gloried 
Id 


338  WHICH     THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

in  it.  (A  proper  spirit!  Go  it,  old  gentleman  !)  The  change 
in  Mr.  Engold's  preaching  was  everything  but  satisfactory  to 
him—  the  speaker.  It  might  please  other  people — he  had  nothing 
to  say  as  to  that ;  but  it  did  not  agree  with  him :  and  he  would 
not  sit  under  it.  If  anybody  wanted  his  pew,  they  could  have 
it — when  his  year  was  up  !" 

Mr.  Wells,  the  ex-army  officer,  "fully  agreed  with  his  dear 
friend,  Mr.  Benedick.  He  believed  that  the  time  was  come 
when  every  man  who  had  any  regard  for  society,  should  take  a 
firm  stand  against  this  wild,  stupid,  and  unnecessary  fanaticism 
in  the  Church.  If  there  was  an  institution  on  earth  which  should 
be  exempt  from  undue  agitation,  it  was  the  Church.  Let  undue 
agitation  once  enter  the  Church,  and  where  is  its  dignity  1 
Without  dignity,  what  would  the  Church  be?  Like  a  fortress 
without  guns  !  How  nicoly,  orderly,  and  respectably  everything 
went  on  in  their  church  before  this  new  agitation  came  up !  And 
since  then,  what  has  been  the  story  1  Agitation — agitation — 
agitation !  Old  members  and  pew-renters  disturbed,  agitated, 
and  rendered,  for  a  time,  half-insane — strangers  flocking  in,  in 
hundreds,  joining  in  the  agitation,  and  then  taking  sides  with  the 
New  People!  And  who  were  these  strangers'?  Who  would 
vouch  for  their  honesty  and  respectability  1  He  wouldn't ! 
(Sensation.)  Who  wanted  them  1  He  didn't.  (Loud,  tem 
pestuous,  and  heart-stirring  applause,  in  which  the  reader  is  very 
respectfully  requested  to  join,  in  case  he  or  she  should  happen 
to  be  an  Exclusive — if  otherwise,  don't  take  the  trouble.)  No, 
what  he  wanted,  was  a  deliverance  from  all  undue  agitation  in 
the  Church;  the  exclusion  of  all  strangers;  and  a  return  to  the 
easy  quiet  of  old  times.  (Deafening  cheers.)  If  he  couldn't 
have  these,  then  it  was  time  for  him,  and  all  who  shared  in  his 
sentiments,  to  withdraw,  at  once,  and  forever,  from  the  church, 
and  leave  it  to  the  disturbers,  the  interlopers,  and  the  undue 
agitators !  If  anybody  wanted  his  pew,  they  could  have  it — 
right  away !" 


WHICH:  THE  KIGHP,  OK  THE  LEFT.  339 

Twenty  of  the  interlopers  stepped  up  at  once,  and  eagerly  re 
quested  the  privilege  of  taking  it  off  his  hands. 

The  ex-army  officer  surveyed  them  silently,  and — bit  his  lip. 
Then,  with  the  quiet  remark,  that  "  they  couldn't  have  it !"  he 
sat  down — very  indignant,  and  very  red. 

But — somehow  or  other — how  singularly  things  will  happen 
sometimes ! — the  ex-army  officer,  turned  traitor  to  his  party  ! 
He,  coolly,  openly,  and  deliberately,  went  over,  on  the  following 
Sabbath,  to  the  ranks  of  the  enemy — the  New  People,  who 
received  him  very  warmly,  and  thanked  him  very  kindly,  for 
coming  up  to  the  help  of  their  Prince.  The  Exclusives  could 
hardly  credit  their  eyes,  when  they  saw  the  old  gentleman,  totter 
ing,  like  a  crushed,  broken,  trembling,  weeping  man,  up  the  aisle, 
and  fill  ling  on  his  knees  at  the  altar,  with  the  touching,  abject  air 
of  one  whose  last  hope  was  gone;  his  hands  clasped  in  agony, 
and  hot  tears  falling  from  his  sweltering  lids  in  a  perfect  gush. 
They  would  never  have  believed  it  of  him — never  ! 

And  yet  the  brave  old  soldier  was  there,  with  near  a  score  of 
others,  calling,  in  piteous  tones,  for  help  and  mercy  at  the  hands 
of  The  Ever  Kind! 

Oh,  what  a  thrill  of  joy  darted  through  the  frames  of  the  New 
People  at  the  sight ! 

And  how  virtuously  indignant  were  the  Exclusives  as  they 
looked  upon  the  hoary  traitor !  Oh !  how  they  would  have 
liked  to  tell  him  their  opinion  of  his  base  desertion  ! 

From  that  hour  the  Church  of  Society — the  Exclusives — had 
no  deadlier  or  more  unsparing  foe.  He  would  walk  right  in 
among  them,  and  carry  off  a  willing  prisoner  in  each  hand.  He 
would  treacherously  xJall  upon  them  individually  at  their  houses, 
and  capture  them  in  that  way.  When  he  failed  in  all  of  his  own 
manoeuvres,  he  would  drop  a  line,  secretly,  to  Mr.  Engold,  and 
make  him  an  accomplice  in  his  nefarious  work :  the  lines  running 
in  the  following  laconic  style : — 


340  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Mr  DEAR  PASTOR — Fire  a  red-hot  shot,  next  Sabbath  morn 
ing,  from  1st  James,  22d  verse.  A  certain  man  in  the  ranks  of 
the  enemy  requires  raking ;  and  a  red-hot  shot  from  that  gun 
will  demolish  him. 

"  Yours,  affectionately, 

WM.  WELLS." 

So  that,  instead  of  taming  down  his  proud,  military  spirit,  his 
acquaintance  with  his  Prince  reawakened  the  old  soldier,  and 
imbued  him  with  all  his  ancient  fire.  In  less  than  a  year  after 
he  had  become  one  of  the  New  People,  the  veteran,  to  use  his 
own  expression,  "  had,  with  the  help  of  JEHOVAH,  made  such  a 
breach  in  -the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  that  they  scarcely  knew 
whether  to  strike  their  flag,  or  fly  !"  Some  chose  the  first,  others 
the  second  alternative;  but  in  the  end,  the  Exclusives  disap 
peared  :  or,  if  they  remained,  they  were  very  careful  not  to  show 
their  colors.  Among  those  who  held  out  to  the  last,  and  then 
threw  down  their  arms  and  asked  for  quarter,  were  Mr.  East- 
lake  and  Mr.  Benedick ;  both  of  whom,  as  the  gallant  old  soldier 
expressed  it,  "  were  struck  down  by  a  red-hot  shot  from  Hebrews 
— thirteenth  chapter  and  second  verse !" 

And  now,  let  us  go  back  to  our  narrative,  with  the  confiden 
tial  understanding  that  the  incidents  in  the  next  chapter  took 
place  some  two  weeks  after  the  commencement  of  the  revival. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  twentieth  of  December  was  a  great  day  in  the  great  house 
of  John  P.  Townsend.  The  store,  book-keeping,  and  packing 
departments  were  in  a  ferment  of  mingled  pride  and  joyful  enthu 
siasm.  All  this  was  brought  about  by  a  simple  incident :  the 
return  home  of  the  silent  partner.  His  wanderings  were  over. 
His  health  was  completely  restored.  He  was  in  high  spirits. 
He  looked  tip- top,  and  his  appearance  was  hailed  throughout  the 
establishment  with  stirring  gladness.  He  had  been  around  to,  and 
shaken  hands  with,  every  body,  in  the  house.  He  had  imparted 
his  own  happy  feelings  to  everybody  in  the  house.  He  had  ex 
pressed  the  heartiest  satisfaction  with  the  business  and  individual 
conduct  of  everybody  in  the  house.  He  had  declared  that  he 
appreciated  what  everybody  in  the  house  had  done  for  the  house. 
He  had  backed  this  up  by  stating  that  when  New  Year's  came 
he  should  remember  everybody  in  the  house.  And  he  had  also 
told  everybody  that  he  had  now  concluded  to  stay  at  home,  and 
help  all  hands  in  pushing  forward  the  interests  of  the  house. 
And  great  was  the  glee  at  all  this  of  everybody  in  the  house : 
for  the  silent  partner  had  ever  been  the  most  popular  of  the  firm 
with  everybody  in  the  house.  Therefore,  although  laboring 
under  the  pressure  of  a  heavy  flow  of  business,  and  although 
everybody  in  the  house  had  just  as  much  to  do  as  they  could  do, 
the  twentieth  of  December  was,  to  everybody  in  the  house,  like 
a  great  gala-day.  Everybody  was  smiling  at  everybody,  all  day 
long ;  everybody  was  in  great  spirits,  all  day  long ;  everybody 
was  shaking  hands  with  everybody,  almost  all  day  long ;  and  that 
house  was  the  happiest  house  in  all  down-town,  all  day  long. 

(841) 


342         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

And  when  night  came,  everybody  went  home  to  tea,  in  the  very 
highest  state  of  satisfaction  with  themselves  and  everybody  else 
in  the  world — apparently. 

There  was  one  gentleman,  however,  who  was  not  in  such  very 
great  glee,  after  all — Mr.  Brigham.  He  didn't  like  the  silent 
partner's  permanent  return  ;  because  he  knew  that  Mr.  Crittenden 
had  concluded  upon  this  step  from  a  conviction  that  the  new 
movement,  had  rendered  further  "  travelling"  wholly  unnecessary. 
lie  knew,  also,  that  he  was  himself  somewhat  less  than  a  favorite 
with  that  gentleman,  and  there  was  no  telling  where  his  lack  of 
favor  in  that  quarter  might  terminate.  He  didn't  like  Samuel's 
position  in  the  silent  partner's  mind,  either ;  nor  that  young  gen 
tleman's  position  at  a  certain  house  in  Fifteenth  street ;  nor  his 
position  in  the  heart  of  a  certain  young  lady  who  dwelt  in  that 
house;  nor  his  position  in  the  minds  of  the  city  and  country  trade  ; 
nor  yet  his  position  in  the  minds  of  his  acquaintance  generally — 
because,  for  a  few  of  these  reasons,  Mr.  Brigham  was  himself 
rapidly  becoming  a  mere  nobody ;  and  because,  for  all  of  them 
put  together,  he  felt  that  he  would  like  to  bite  a  certain  young 
gentleman  in  some  way  that  would  give  him  a  great  deal  of  real 
piercing  PAIN. 

These  were,  doubtless,  the  grounds  of  the  remark  which  the 
confidential  clerk  permitted  to  glide  through  his  teeth,  while  on 
hi's  way  from  the  store  to  his  boarding-house  : — 

"  I  have  laid  the  train  :  why  should  I  hesitate  to  fire  it  ?  A 
flash,  a  smoke,  a  crash,  and — ruin,  out  of  which,  if  he  can  come 
whole  again,  let  him  !" 

It  was  to  be  a  great  night  at  the  Townsends'.  There  was  to 
be  a  party  there — that  is  to  say,  a  few  knowing  people  were 
going  to  amuse  themselves  at  the  expense  of  a  few  other  people 
whom  they  believed  to  be  everything  but  knowing — although 
the  latter  were,  in  their  own  estimation,  very  knowing  people,  in 
deed. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          343 

And  so  one  of  the  knowing  ones — that  is  to  say,  one  who  in 
nocently  flattered  himself  that  what  he  did  not  know,  was  not 
worth  knowing — was  refreshing  his  mind  with  a  string  of  com 
pliments,  which  he  had  been  a  whole  week  in  preparing,  for  his 
guests.  These  little  things  would  serve  a  double  purpose :  to 
flatter  the  mental  weaklings  for  whom  they  were  designed,  and 
to  glorify,  in  a  small  way,  the  little  mind  that  uttered  them — that 
is,  add  to  his  previous  reputation  for  affability,  generosity,  wit, 
and  urbanity. 

Mrs.  Townsend,  whose  chief  error  lay  in  a  superabundance  of 
talent,  was  impressing  upon  herself  the  propriety  of  guarding 
herself  from  all  unnecessary  observations:  a  great  idea,  of  which 
only  few  comprehend  the  value  of.  "  For,"  mused  Mrs.  Towns- 
end,  "  the  great  art  of  life  is,  not  to  talk  one's  self,  but  to  make 
others  talk  ;  if  they  utter  pearls,  they  are  thenceforth  yours,  as 
well  as  theirs ;  if  they  utter  trash,  you  know  at  once  the  measure 
of  their  minds — a  valuable  knowledge  sometimes.  While,  if  you 
are  silent,  no  one  can  sound  your  mind.  I  have  found  that  it  is 
sometimes  an  advantage  to  not  let  others  know  the  measure  of 
my  mind !" 

The  lady  was  right.  Not  to  know  how  to  talk,  but  how  to  be 
silent — or  rather,  how  to  preserve  one's  self  from  talking  in  the 
wrong  place,  is  a  study  worth  cultivating. 

Isabella  was,  with  the  assistance  of  her  maid,  preparing  for  a 
regular  massacre. 

"  How  many  conquests  do  you  count  upon  to-night,  miss  1" 
asked  the  girl,  who  found  that  a  little  flattery,  now  and  then, 
helped  her  wardrobe. 

"  Have  done  with  your  nonsense,  do !"  answered  her  young 
mistress,  with  everything  else  but  a  frown. 

"You'll  make  twenty — I'm  sure  of  that,  at  least!"  pursued  the 
attendant.  "For  you  never  looked  so  brilliant  before  in  all 
your  life.  You  are  perfectly  irresistible!" 


344         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Nonsense  !  You  are  quizzing  me.  And  you  know  I  detest 
quizzing." 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  kind,  miss.  I  know  my  place 
better  than  that!  But  this  I  will  say  :  if  you  don't  break  some 
hearts  to-night,  then  it  will  be  because  there  are  none  to  break  !" 

"  Pshaw — nonsense !  There's  nothing  very  unusual  in  my 
appearance  to-night." 

"That  maybe  your  opinion,  miss:  but  it  isn't  mine — I'm 
sure.  Wait  till  you  sail  in  among  the  company — that's  all. 
There  won't  be  any  sensation — oh,  no !  The  ladies  won't  bite 
their  handkerchiefs  for  spite — oh,  no  !  And  if  Samuel  don't  feel 
a  fluttering  under  his  waistcoat  when  he  sees  you — " 

"  Do  stop  your  quizzing !"  interrupted  her  mistress,  surveying 
herself,  with  a  well-pleased  glance,  in  her  toilet  mirror.  "  'And 
that  reminds  me,'  as  gnardy  says,  that  I  shan't  want  that  dress 
which  I  wore  to-day,  any  more !" 

"I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  miss.  You  are  so  good! 
Dear  me !  how  splendid  you  do  look  !  How  I  should  like  to  be 
in  the  drawing-room  when  you  sail  in !" 

Poor  Miriam  was  considering  how  she  could  contrive,  during 
the  evening,  to  avoid  observation. 

She  thought  that  she  would  put  herself  under  the  protection 
of  Mr.  Crittenden,  who  understood  her.  In  case  that  gentleman 
should  be  otherwise  taken  up,  she  had  hope  in  her  aunt ;  failing 
in  the  latter,  she  would  do  what  she  could  for  herself. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  murmured,  in  conclusion,  "perhaps  Fanny 
Adriance  may  not  be  wholly  monopolized  by  her  intended,  and 
will  kindly  give  me  a  part  of  her  attention  !" 

In  the  meanwhile,  Miriam,  who  was  never  much  given  to  dis 
play,  was  arraying  herself  in  a  dark  purple  dress,  which  was 
just  showy  enough  to  evince  her  willingness  to  step  a  little  out 
of  her  usual  plainness,  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  her  friends,  and 
yet  sufficiently  modest  not  to  do  violence  to  her  own  simple  taste". 


WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         345 

Mr.  Crittenden  was  felicitating  himself,  in  advance,  upon  the 
enjoyment  which  he  should  derive  from  his  portrait  gallery,  the 
pitiful  figure  that  each  of  them  would  make  in  the  presence  of 
his  sterling  favorite,  and  seriously  resolving  that  this  should  be 
the  last  time  he  would  attempt  to  amuse  himself  over  the  weak 
nesses  of  his  fellow-creatures. 

Samuel,  who  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Crittenden's  anticipations 
from  the  converzatione,  and  still  less  of  the  part  which  that  gen 
tleman  expected  him  to  play  in  it,  had  given  but  little  thought 
to  the  subject.  He  fancied  that  he  had  been  invited  simply  out 
of  courtesy,  and  that  whether  he  was  present  or  not  would  be  of 
but  very  little  consequence.  Still,  as  he  had  not  declined  the  invi 
tation,  and  as  that  might  possibly  be  viewed  by  his  friends  in  the 
light  of  an  acceptance,  he  concluded  that  he  would  look  in  upon 
the  party  some  time  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  and  make  his 
escape  at  the  earliest  excusable  moment.  With  these  reflections, 
he  stopped,  on  his  way  home,  at  the  laundress's,  partly  to  pay  his 
respects  to  Mrs.  Farley  herself,  but  mainly  to  see  his  little  friend, 
Bob,  who  had  been  for  some  weeks  in  a  state  of  decline. 

Samuel  found  the  laundress  ironing,  and  little  Bob  sitting  up, 
on  a  low  chair  before  the  stove,  watching  with  his  large,  brown* 
thoughtful  eyes,  the  bright  shining  coals,  and  dreamily  shaping 
them  into  a  thousand  fanciful  figures.  The  poor  boy  was  reduced 
to  a  mere  shadow ;  and  the  glare  which  was  thrown  from  the 
stove  upon  his  wasted  frame,  gave  a  painful  prominence  to  the 
hunch  in  his  shoulders,  which  rose  almost  on  a  level  with  the  top 
of  his  large  but  beautifully  formed  head. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock,  and  the  kettle  was  singing  on  the 
stove. 

"  I  hear  some  one  on  the  stairs  !"  observed  the  laundress. 

"It's  Samuel,"  said  Bob,  listening.     "I  know  his  step." 

A  moment  later,  and  the  young  man  was  shaking  hands  with 
the  laundress  and  little  Bob. 
15* 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  How  are  we  to-night  f  asked  Samuel,  taking  the  lad  on  his 
knee,  and  stroking  his  dark  locks  with  tender  playfulness. 

"  Pretty  well,"  answered  Bob,  in  a  clear  but  feeble  voice. 

a  Have  we  been  a  good  boy  1" 

"Pretty  good,"  said  Bob.     "  Haven't  I,  ma'  ?" 

"  Very  good !"  replied  the  latter,  taking  a  fresh  iron  from  the 
stove,  and  giving  her  boy  a  cheering  smile. 

"That's  a  dear  little  heart!"  cried  Samuel,  patting  him  affec 
tionately  on  the  cheek.  "  I've  brought  him  a  pretty  little  book, 
which  is  ever  so  full  of  pictures,  and  a  nice  little  pair  of  gloves, 
which  will  keep  his  little  hands  ever  so  warm,  and  a  little  coat 
to  go  to  church  in  when  he  gets  well,  and  a  funny  little  dancing- 
jack,  which  will  make  him  laugh  ever  so  much — and  all  for  his 
Christmas.  See !"  and  breaking  open  a  small  bundle,  he  held  up 
the  articles  of  which  he  had  spoken.  "And  now  what  is  Bob 
going  to  give  Samuel  for  his  Christmas — hey "?" 

"  Dear — dear !"  cried  the  laundress,  "  aint  they  nice  ?" 

The  child  surveyed  the  things  for  a  few  moments  with  silent 
but  chastened  delight.  Then  putting  his  little  thin  arms  around 
che  young  man's  neck,  he  hugged  him  with  a  tight,  emotional 
grasp,  and  uttered  a  low  sob. 

The  laundress  started,  and  asked  soothingly :  "What  is  it, 
darling  ?" 

;  "  Tell  Samuel  what  the  matter  is  ?"  said  the  young  man,  who 
could  feel  the  heart  of  the  child  throbbing  violently  against  his 
own.  "Bobby  will  tell  Samuel  what  the  matter  is — won't  he1?" 

"Bobby  will  never  wear  his  new  coat!"  replied  the  child. 
(i  Bobby  is  going  away — to  Jesus — up  in  heaven  !" 

The  laundress  and  Samuel  exchanged  a  sad  glance.  The 
former  turned  pale ;  a  feeling  of  faintness  crept  over  her,  and 
staggering  to  a  chair,  she  veiled  her  face  silently  with  her  apron. 

"  What  makes  Bobby  think  so  1"  asked  Samuel. 

"  /  know !"  said  the  child,  shaking  his  head. 


t  * 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          347 

"And  won't  he  tell  his  Samuel  ?" 

"Samuel  knows,  too,  and  so  does  ma',  and  aunty,  and  Bill !" 

"Aunty"  was  Mrs.  Osborn,  and  "  Bill"  her  adopted  son,  who, 
ever  since  his  recovery,  had  become  a  very  frequent  visitor  at  tho 
laundress's. 

"Are  you  sure,  Bob  T 

"  Very  sure,"  answered  the  child. 

"  But  you  are  not  afraid  to  go  to  Jesus — are  you,  Bob  ?" 

"No;  but  I'm  sorry.  I  don't  want  to  go  alone.  If  you  and 
ma',  and  aunty,  and  Bill,  would  go  with  me,  I'd  like  it  very  much. 
It  would  be  so  pleasant ! 

"Ah!  well,  Bob,  we'll  come  by-and-bye." 

"  By-and-bye  1     When  ?" 

"In  a  few  years.     Perhaps  in  a  few  months.     Who  can  tell?" 

"  Why  can't  you  all  go  when  I  do  1  The  Lord  will  let  you 
in — won't  He  V 

"  O  yes.  But  we  must  wait  until  He  calls  us.  He  calls  those 
first  whom  He  loves  the  most." 

"  Does  He  ?     And  is  that  the  reason  why  He  calls  me  first  7" 

"  I  presume  so,"  said  Samuel,  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "  But  it's 
a  great  thing  to  be  called  to  Him  early.  You  ought  to  be  very 
grateful  for  His  kindness  ]" 

"  I  guess  I  ought — and  I  am,  too,"  said  Bob. 

"  Because,"  said  Samuel,  "  when  He  takes  you  Up  There  so 
early,  He  saves  you  from  twenty,  thirty,  perhaps  fifty  years  of 
trial,  suffering,  and  sorrow." 

"  Yes,  and  from  the  bad  boys  who  hit  me  ard  call  me  names," 
said  Bob.  "  Dear,  dear — aint  He  good  T' 

"  Very.     Don't  you  love  Him  ?" 

"I  guess  I  do!" 

"  And  you  won't  be  sorry  any  more  ?" 

"  No ;  but  still  I'd  like  to  have  you  and  ma?,  and  Bill,  and 
aunty,  go  Up  There,  too  !" 


I 

*£* 

348          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Oh,  we'll  come,  in  time  !" 

"  Right  away  ?" 

"  No  ;  one  of  these  days." 

"All  together  1" 

"  No  ;  one  after  another.  But  by-and-bye,  we'll  all  be  there. 
And  then  we  shall  never  be  separated  again." 

"  Never — never  at  all  ?" 

"  Never.  We'll  live  together  among  the  angels ;  and  we'll  see 
God,  and  Jesus,  and  all  the  angels,  every  day,  and  be  happy  all 
day  long,  forever." 

"And  father,  too  ?" 

"And  father,  too." 

"Dear,  dear — won't  that  be  nice  !" 

"  Very  nice,  Bob.  And  so  you  won't  be  afraid  or  sorry  any 
more — will  you  ?" 

"  I  guess  I  won't.     I'll  be  ever  so  happy  and  brave." 

"And  when  you  come  to  go,  you'll  be  joyful — won't  you  ?" 

"  I  guess  I  will:1 

"Because,"  said  his  friend,  "we  ought  to  be  very  glad  when 
we  are  going  up  to  see  God  and  Jesus." 

"  So  we  ought !  And  when  I  get  Up  There,  I'll  ask  God  to 
let  you  all  come  up,  too — right  away  !" 

"  You  are  a  dear  good  boy  !" 

And  in  this  strain  the  child-boy  and  the  child-man  talked  on 
for  an  hour  or  more,  by  which  time  little  Bob  fell  asleep  in  the 
arms  of  his  gentle  friend,  who  then  yielded  him  to  his  parent, 
who  quietly  bore  him  to  the  inner  chamber  and  put  him,  with  a 
soft  kiss,  to  bed. 

"You  must  keep  your  heart  up,  dear  madam,"  said  Samuel, 
with  a  cheering  smile,  as  the  laundress,  pale  and  agitated,  returned 
to  her  ironing.  "  Let  this  console  you  :  Your  flower,  when  once 
the  petals  of  his  spirit  close  up  here  forever,  will  blossom  again, 
eternally,  and  brighter  and  more  beautiful  than  ever,  in  the 
Better  Garden  !  Weep  not — rejoice,  rather;  thanking  Him,  for 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          349 

His  great  goodness  in  taking  to  His  bosom  your  darling,  whose 
gentle  spirit  is  wholly  unfitted  for  a  rough,  stormy  world  like 
this,  where  rude  hearts  are  many,  and  kind  ones  but  few  !" 

He  had  touched  the  right  chord ;  and  the  sorrow  in  the  poor 
mother's  eye  was  succeeded  by  a  smile. 

"  He  will  pass  away  gently,"  continued  Samuel.  u  Like  the 
breath  of  the  night  before  the  light  of  thfc  morning ;  and  the  light 
of  his  new  morning  will  be  that  of  the  Happy  Land.  Take  com 
fort  from  that !" 

After  an  hour  of  pleasant  converse,  the  young  man  took  his 
departure,  leaving  the  laundress  happier  than  he  had  found  her— - 
yea,  even  cheerful  in  her  resignation  to  the  Divine  will. 

It  was  half  after  ten  o'clock  when  Samuel  reached  homu. 
Upon  entering  the  drawing-room — which  was  a-blaze  with  light, 
beauty,  wit,  and  talent — he  was  greeted  by  Isabella,  who  broke 
off  an  interesting  discussion  with  an  eminent  legal  gentleman, 
upon  the  rights  of  the  people  to  defend  themselves  at  the  bar, 
and  rushing  forward,  exclaimed,  as  she  playfully  secured  the 
new-comer  by  the  collar — 

"  So,  Mr.  Truant !  we  have  got  you  at  last,  have  we  1  Come 
up  here,  sir,  and  make  your  peace  with  this  gentleman,  who  has 
been  wondering  all  the  evening  at  your  absence  !" 

And  she  led  the  blushing  loiterer  towards  the  left  corner  of 
the  apartment,  where  Mr.  Crittenden  was  holding  a  sort  of  little 
court  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  whom  he  was  charming  with  a 
witty  account  of  a  fanciful  new  continent,  which  had  recently 
been  discovered  by  a  fanciful  navigator,  while  making  a  fanciful 
voyage  of  discovery  around  the  world. 

"  So,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  pressing  him  warmly  by  the 
hand,  "  we  had  begun  to  fear  that  you  had  forgotten  us ;  but  now 
that  we  have  got  you,  we  shall  do  with  you  as  Her  Majesty  of 
Spain  does  with  the  Isle  of  Cuba." 

"  How  is  that?"  asked  Isabella. 


350  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Cherish  him  as  the  apple  of  our  eye,  and — hold  on  to  him  ! 
A.nd  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  permit  me  a  few  words  with 
our  dear  friend  here,  who  is,  we  doubt  not,  very  anxious  to  pro 
pitiate  us  for  his  prolonged  absence." 

"  But  you  forget,  naughty  man,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  play 
fully,  "that  we  are  all  dying  to  hear  whether  the  navigator  ever 
married  the  handsome  widowed  queen  of  the  new  continent." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  I  can't  say  positively,"  returned  the 
narrator ;  "  but  I  have  a  sort  of  an  indefinite  idea  that  he  did  ;  that 
he  became  king,  that  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  that  he  then 
died,  and  immediately,  like  all  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  delightful 
country,  came  to  life  again  quite  a  handsome  young  man,  and 
his  queen  quite  a  likely  young  woman ;  and  that  they  both  lived 
on  happily  to  another  ripe  old  age,  and  then  died  again,  and  then 
came  to  life  once  more,  younger,  handsomer,  and  happier  than 
ever,  and  then  went  on  together  to  another  old  age,  in  which 
condition  they  were  at  last  accounts,  which  stated  that  they  were 
in  daily  expectation  of  again  dying  and  again  turning  up  young, 
and  beautiful,  and  rich,  and  loving,  as  before.  There !  if  that 
isn't  giving  the  lovers  good  measure,  I  don't  know  what  is !" 

"  I  say,"  cried  a  spruce  old  bachelor  of  sixty,  who  had  been 
favoring  a  spruce  old  single  lady  of  sixty-five,  with  ringlets  like 
those  of  a  young  boarding-school  miss,  with  his  private  opinion 
of  the  disastrous  effects  of  salt,  and  stating  it  as  his  belief  that 
that  article  had  a  tendency,  in  time,  to  ossify  the  human  system, 
"a  great  country  that!  Have  you  any  idea  when  the  next 
steamer  starts  for  it1?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Jessup ;  as  soon  as  the  next  one  comes  in  !" 

The  laugh  that  followed  this  gay  rejoinder  informed  the  spruce 
old  bachelor  that  he  hadn't  got  very  far  ahead  of  the  witty  nar 
rator  of  the  wonderful  continent,  and  he  quietly  resumed  his 
impressions  upon  the  salt  question. 

In  the  opposite  corner,  near  the  window,  Charley  Gibbs  was 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          351 

explaining  to  Miriam  and  Fanny  Adriance — the  latter  a  young 
lady  of  twenty,  rather  petite  in  feature  and  figure,  and  remarka 
ble  as  much  for  the  mildness  -of  her  manner  as  for  the  goodness 
of  her  heart,  which  latter  was  unalterable  in  its  affection  for 
Charley — how  near  he  was  towards  "  bringing  obstinate  old 
guardy  to  terms," — how  soon  he  expected  to  come  into  posses 
sion  of  his  money,  and  how  his  lawyer  had  told  him  that  a  few 
hundred  dollars  more  would  settle  the  old  gentleman's  hash  so 
completely  that,  figuratively  speaking,  he  wouldn't  have  the  first 
fraction  of  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 

On  Miriam's  right  sat  Mrs.  Townsend,  discussing  the  merits 
of  modern  literature  with  a  gentleman,  who — but  let  us  listen  to 
Mr.  Crittenden,  \vho  is  now  opening  his  gallery  of  living  portraits 
to  his  young  friends. 

"  That  individual  who  is  conversing  with  Mrs.  Townsend  is 
a  Mr.  Sly,  of  the  great  publishing  firm  of  Sly  &  Slocum — a  house 
which  has  been  remarkably  successful  in  flooding  the  country 
with  books  and  pamphlets  which  corrupt,  demoralize,  and  de 
stroy  every  mind  that  is  unfortunate  enough  to  come  in  contact 
with  them." 

Samuel  shuddered. 

"  A  dirty  dog !"  he  observed,  surveying  the  head  of  the  great 
publishing  house  with  an  air  of  mingled  uneasiness  and  disgust. 

"Oh!  my  dear  boy,  you  mustn't  say  that!  Why,  sir — Mr. 
Sly  is  a  respectable  man — has  a  pew  in  the  church ;  is  sometimes 
affected  by  the  sermon  ;  is  regarded  as  one  of  our  good  citizens ; 
is  admitted  into  society ;  is  taken  by  the  hand  by  very  worthy 
people ;  never  feels  ashamed  when  he  surveys  himself  in  his 
mirror;  lays  down  at  night  without  trembling;  wakes  up  in  the 
morning  without  creeping ;  looks  his  wife  and  children  in  the 
face  without  blushing ;  eats  his  food  without  fear  of  choking ; 
walks  down  to  his  business  as  if  he  were  a  decent  man ;  and 
sends  out,  every  week,  from  five  to  fifty  thousand  books  and 


352  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

pamphlets,  every  one  of  which  effectually  uproots  the  last  vestige 
of  virtue,  purity,  and  morality,  from  the  hearts  of  from  five  to 
fifty  thousand  persons.  But  what  then1?  What  is  the  moral 
destruction  of  from  five  to  fifty  thousand  hearts  per  week — a 
small  army  of  ruined  souls  per  year,  eh  ? — to  Messrs.  Sly  & 
Slocum,  so  long  as  Sly  &  Slocum  make  money  by  the  opera 
tion — eh  ?  Why,  sir,  Messrs.  Sly  &  Slocum — their  one  house 
alone — do  more,  in  a  single  year,  towards  manufacturing  candi 
dates  for  brothels,  gambling  hells,  rummeries,  race-courses,  and 
ring-fights — filling  our  penitentiaries  and  state  prisons,  and  hurling 
destroyed  souls  into  the  Everlasting  Gulf,  than  you  could  count 
in  the  same  period,  providing  you  should  count  sixty  a  minute 
and  work  ten  hours  per  day.  This  one  house  alone  neutralizes 
and  undoes,  in  a  single  week,  the  Sabbath  labors  of  a  thousand 
faithful  clergymen.  This  one  house  alone  creates  more  work  for 
our  Bible,  Tract,  and  Home  Missionary  Societies,  than  the  natural 
sinful  propensities  of  a  half  million  of  people.  This  one  house 
alone  cuts  out  more  labor,  in  six  days,  for  our  courts  of  justice — 
makes  more  thieves,  pickpockets,  housebreakers,  and  general 
felons— breaks  up  the  honor,  peace,  and  concord  of  more  families 
— familiarizes  more  young  men  and  women  with  the  frightfullest 
of  all  sentiments — and  drives  more  half-witted  creatures  into  the 
broad  gulf  of  vice  and  crime,  than  the  entire  pulpit  could  retrieve 
in  a  year  !  Now,  sir,  I  ask  you — as  a  thinking,  reasoning  being 
— how  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross  can  expect  to  accomplish  much 
permanent  good,  while  houses  like  Sly  &  Slocum's  are  permitted 
to  exist !  The  souls  that  they  draw  near  to  heaven  on  the  Sab 
bath,  Sly  &  Slocum  drag  down  again,  during  the  week.  Sly  & 
Slocum,  alone,  by  simply  publishing  a  single  filthy  book — which 
their  extensive  business  facilities  enable  them  to  scatter  in  copi 
ous  showers  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land — can  sit 
behind  their  desks,  and  put  to  rout  a  whole  armv  of  Christ's 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  35*3 

warriors.  And  what  is  more — they  do  it.  sir — do  it,  every  week 
in  the  year !" 

A  sensation  of  sickness  crept  over  his  auditor,  who  became 
pale,  faint,  and  nervous. 

"  You  are  ill  ?"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  anxiously. 

"  I'll  be  better  in  a  moment,  sir.  You  make  me  shudder  with 
your  dreadful  pictures !" 

"  Shall  I  soften  them  for  you,  my  friend  7" 

"No;  but  let  me  think  a  moment.  You  oppress,  bewilder, 
terrify  me.  Come  with  me  a  moment  up  stairs,  to  my  room." 

"For  what?" 

"  I  want  to  pray  to  my  Prince  for  these  two  miserable  men — 
for  Sly  &  Slocum  !" 

"My  dear  friend- — you  are  in  error.  Sly  &  Slocum,  and  all 
of  their  kind,  are  2ms^  praying  for !  Why,  sir — they  are  not 
even  human !  Wretches  whose  daily  bread  is  obtained,  by  de 
stroying  souls  at  the  rate  of  from  five  to  fifty  thousand  per  week ! 
Why,  you  must  be  mad  to  think  it !" 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Crittenden — it  is  they  who  are  mad,  you  who 
are  in  error.  All  men  are  human,  however  mhuman  they  may 
act.  Let  us  appeal  to  them,  and  for  them,  as  if  they  had  never 
done  an  inhuman  thing  in  their  lives,  and  then  the  human  part  of 
them  will  come  out.  Humanity  will  stand  up  at  the  call  of  Hu 
manity.  And  therefore  I  will  pray  for  these  men  before  I  go  to 
bed,  as  if  they  were  human,  and  not  as  if  they  were  mad  beasts. 
And  Our  Prince,  who  is  very  kind,  very  generous,  and  very 
merciful,  will  plead  kindly  for  them  to  His  Father,  wjio  will 
touch  them  with  His  mercy,  and  stir  them  out  from  this  mad, 
horrid  work  !" 

"  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  shaking  his  head,  and  smiling  at 
the  young  man's  simple  earnestness,  "you  don't  know  these 
men !" 

"  But  I  do  know  the  goodness  of  my  Prince,  and  the  Power  of 
my  God !"  replied  Samuel.  "  Come,  dear  friend — let  us,  who 


354:          WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

see  their  dreadful  course,  make  an  effort  for  these  two  men,  who 
cannot  see  their  own  madness." 

"  What  can  we  do  ?"  asked  Mr.  Crittenden,  smiling,  in  spite 
of  himself,  at  the  young  man's  simplicity  and  faith. 

"  Many  things,"  replied  Samuel.  *'  Let  us  pray  for  them — 
that  must  be  the  first  step.  Then  let  us  call  on  these  men,  and 
tell  them  of  the  exceeding  wrongfulness  of  their  course — asking 
our  Redeemer,  on  the  way,  to  come  up  to  our  assistance  in  the 
effort.  Then  I  will  find  out  their  pastors,  lay  the  case  before 
them,  and  invite  them  to  make  a  special  effort  for  them  in  their 
next  sermons.  Then  we  must  assist  the  pastors  by  our  prayers 
— Our  Prince  will  assist  us  all — and  Our  Father  will  send 
down  His  Holy  Spirit  to  visit  Sly  &  Slocum,  and  knock  stir 
ringly  at  their  hearts.  Then  these  men  will  see  the  monstrous 
wickedness  of  their  business — then  they  will  give  it  up — then 
from  five  to  fifty  thousand  souls,  per  week,  will  be  unvisited  by 
their  insidious  books  and  pamphlets — then  the  work  of  wicked 
ness  will  be,  in  a  measure,  stopped — then  the  good  books  which 
are  published  by  good  houses  will  be  widelier  read — then  the 
wholesomeness  of  their  better  sentiments  will  take  an  easier  and 
firmer  hold  upon  the  public  mind — then  the  labors  of  our 
Prince's  warriors  will  not  be  in  vain — then  hearts  that  have 
wandered  from  their  Father  will  return — then  hearts  that  have 
never  known  Him  will  come  up — then  men  will  be  saved,  and 
our  King  and  Prince  be  glorified  !" 

"  Ah,  Samuel,"  smiled  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  your  enthusiasm  runs 
away  with  you !" 

"No,  my  friend,  it  is  your  want  of  faith  that  runs  away  with 
you  !  '  Enthusiasm  V  Know  you  not  that  all  things  are  possi 
ble  to  HIM,  and  to  His  people,  when  they  work  with  faith  in 
Him !" 

Mr.  Crittenden  pondered  a  moment.  He  remembered  the 
great  change  in  the  business  in  his  own  house — the  packing-room 
society — the  vast  good  accomplished  by  its  members — the  great 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          355 

revival  in  the  church  of  Mr.  Engold,  who,  like  Samuel,  was  an 
enthusiast  in  faith — and  the  amazing  spiritual  results  which  fol 
lowed  in  the  wake  of  this  young  Christian  wherever  he  went, 
a'ld  whatever  he  undertook  to  perform,  and  he  replied — 

"  You  are  right.  I  take  back  my  observation.  Faith  is  equal 
to  anything,  however  difficult." 

"  Because,"  added  Samuel,  "  the  power  of  Him  in  whom  we 
have  faith  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the  universe — let  alone  that 
of  one  or  two  of  its  smallest  atoms." 

"But  you  overlook  one  thing,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden.  "Sly  & 
Slocum,  although  the  principal,  are  not  the  only  wretches 
engaged  in  this  frightful  business." 

"  No  V  said  the  young  Christian,  mournfully. 

"  No.     There  are  a  score  of  them." 

"  What !  Twenty  houses  engaged  in  sending  out  weekly  from 
five  to  fifty  thousand  messengers  to  corrupt  the  hearts  of  the 
people  ?" 

"  Even  so  many." 

The  young  Christian  was  shocked.  As  before,  a  sickening  sen 
sation  crept  over  and  unnerved  him. 

"  What  wonder  that  society  is  false,  rotten,  double-minded, 
and  corrupt  ?"  he  exclaimed,  mournfully.  "  What  wonder  that 
our  Redeemer's  soldiers  grow  weary  and  disheartened — with  all 
these  insidious  serpents  working  against  them,  and  neutralizing 
the  effects  of  their  labors !" 

"  You  despair,  then  ?"  said  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  Despair  ?  No  !  Were  there  a  million,  the  great  power  of 
THE  KING  would  be  greater  than  the  million  !  How  much  for 
hope,  then,  have  we,  when  the  sources  of  this  vast  evil  are  only 
a  paltry  score !  Come,  we  must  give  our  energies  to  this  work. 
These  channels  of  corruption  must  be  dried  up.  This  vast  under 
current  of  corruption  must  be  arrested." 

"  How  7" 

"  By  the  might  of  Jehovah !  There  is  no  other  way.  We  must 


356          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

take  hold  of  each  house  separately  ;  call  on  Our  PRINCE  for  aid, 
on  The  KING  for  mercy,  and  at  it  /" 

"  When  r 

"  Right  away  !     For  His  service,  no  time  like  the  present !" 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  catching  the  young 
man's  enthusiasm.  "  Give  me  two  weeks,  in  which  to  arrange 
some  private  matters,  which  have  been  neglected  by  my  long 
absence,  and  I'll  enter  with  you,  heart  and  hand,  in  this  great 
work.  In  the  meanwhile,  we  can  be  gathering  a  list  of  these 
firms,  learning  the  names  of  their  pastors,  and  laying  our  plans 
for  the  campaign !" 

"  Agreed,  sir  !"  cried  Samuel,  warmly  pressing  his  hand.  "  0, 
my  dear  friend,"  he  added,  "  you  do  not  know  the  joy — the  ex 
ceeding  great  joy — in  campaigning  for  THE  LORD.  All  other  plea 
sure  is  as  nothing  to  it — all  other  joy  is  but  barrenness  to  it — all 
other  enthusiasm  is  as  dullness  before  it !" 

"  Enough,  Samuel,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  returning  the  pres 
sure  with  equal  warmth,  "  we  understand  each  other !" 

"  Ah !  sir,  you  make  me  very  happy  !" 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  in  a  disturbed  voice.  "  And 
now,  let 's  see  the  miserable  rubbish  with  which  Messrs.  Sly  and 
Slocum  are  doing  such  service  for  Satan,"  Then  directing  his 
voice  at  the  publisher,  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  could  not  fail  to 
arrest  general  attention,  "  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Sly,  for  interrupting 
your  discourse  with  my  fair  friend,  but  I  have  been  mentioning 
to  this  gentleman,  who  was  ignorant  of  it  before,  the  vast  business 
resources  of  your  house,  and  the  extraordinary  sales  which  you 
effect  upon  your  publications.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give 
us  some  of  the  names  of  your  most  popular  works  ?" 

All  eyes  were  immediately  fixed  upon  the  representative  of  the 
great  house  of  Sly  &  Slocum. 

"  With  great  pleasure,  sir,"  answered  that  worthy — a  short, 
slender-bodied  gentleman,  with  broad  shoulders,  a  low  neck,  a 
very  high-pointed  collar,  a  flaming  neck-cloth,  a  long  face  liber- 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          357 

ally  bespattered  with  tell-tale  blossoms,  deep-set  eyes  of  a  gray 
ish  blue,  square,  heavily  projecting  brows,  and  a  low,  flat,  slanting 
forehead,  with  light  hair  pomatumed  into  dark,  and  falling  around 
the  cheeks  and  back  in  an  equal  length.  "  With  great  pleasure, 
sir,"  he  repeated,  with  a  gracious  wave  of  his  gloved  hand. 
"  The  chief  publications  of  our  house  are,  '  The  Deserted  Cham 
bermaid,'  'The  Dashing  Exploits  of  Illustrious  Highwaymen,' 
'The  Illustrious  Pugilists;  or,  the  Bruising  Boys  of  Young 
America,'  *  The  Lives  and  Adventures  of  Illustrious  Freebooters,7 
1  Lucy  the  Hard  'Un ;  or,  the  Marvellous  Exploits  of  a  Female 
Highwayman/  '  Tom  Briggs,  the  Black  Rover  of  the  Ocean 
Main,'  '  Owley  Bill ;  or,  the  Fearless  Burglar,'  '  Daring  Sarah, 
the  G'hal  of  the  Red,  Red  Locks,'  '  Sam  Swipes,  the  Heroic 
House  Thief,'  '  The  Beautiful  Cigar-Seller ;  or,  the  Handsome 
Libertine,'  and  '  Betty  Williams,  the  Orphan  Girl ;  or,  the  Key 
to  Easy  Crime.' " 

"  A  rare  selection,  sir !"  observed  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  Well,  yes  !"  said  Mi\  Sly,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  a 
capital  judge.  "  Pretty  fair !  We  understand  these  matters,  a 
little,  at  our  house !" 

"  So  I  perceive,  sir !     Are  you  a  married  man,  Mr.  Sly  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  answered  Mr.  Sly,  who  could  not  see  the  sar 
casm  in  the  question. 

"  A  father,  too  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  Mr.  Sly,  wondering  what  connection 
could  exist  between  his  being  a  husband  and  father  and  a  mem 
ber  of  the  great  publishing  firm  of  Sly  &  Slocum.  "  Two  chil 
dren,  Mr.  Crittenden." 

"  Ah  !  indeed  ?  What  do  you  propose  to  make  of  them  ? 
Publishers  r 

"If  they  should  live;  which  I  presume  they  will,  for  the  Slys 
are  a  healthy  stock." 


358          WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

"  Very  healthy,  indeed  !"  remarked  Mr.  Crittenden.  "  Will 
you  bring  them  up  in  your  own  house1?"  he  added,  quietly. 

"  That  is  my  design,"  replied  the  publisher.  "  Our  house  is 
generally  regarded  by  the  trade  as  a  pretty  good  school !" 

"  No  doubt,  Mr.  Sly — no  doubt !  In  fact,  of  its  kind,  it  may 
be  almost  said  to  be  unrivalled !"  observed  Mr.  Critten 
den. 

"  Our  competitors  think  so !"  ventured  Mr.  Sly,  with  modest 
wittiness. 

"  And  they  think  very  justly,  no  doubt.  That  is  all,  Mr.  Sly  !" 

The  publisher  bowed  as  graciously  as  before,  and  resumed  his 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Townsend,  perfectly  unconscious  of  the 
loathing  with  which  he  was  regarded  by  all  in  the  apartment. 

"  So,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden  to  Samuel,  "  you  see  that  there  is 
work  before  us.  That  individual,  as  you  perceive,  is  so  hardened 
in  vice,  that  he  cannot  see  even  the  infamy  of  his  business !  What 
can  religion  do  for  such  a  man  ?" 

"  Reform  him !"  said  Samuel. 

"  But  only  think  of  the  depravity  of  the  creature's  heart !  He 
sees  no  shame  even  in  proposing  to  bring  up  his  sons  to  the  same 
beastly  business !" 

"  God's  power  is  greater  than  this  man's  depravity." 

"  Let  us  hope  so." 

"  I  know  so,"  said  Samuel. 

"  So  be  it.  But  now  let  me  call  your  attention  to  that  slender 
gentleman  who  is  engaged  with  Mr.  Townsend.  He,  too,  is  a  great 
man  in  his  way,  and  remarkable  for  having  achieved  an  immense 
fortune  in  three  short  years." 

"  In  what  way  ?" 

"  Fancy  banking.  He  started,  one  after  another,  three  separate 
banks,  which  failed,  one  after  another,  without  redeeming  a  soli 
tary  bill,  leaving  the  note-holders  absolutely  minus,  and  himself 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  359 

so  poor  that  he  didn't  know,  for  a  time,  what  to  do — with  his 
money  !" 

''•  And  is  this  man  received  in  society  1" 

"  Certainly  ;  and  in  the  church,  too  :  and  he  is  a  very  exem 
plary  member,  I  assure  you  !" 

"Pray,  don't  talk  so,"  said  Samuel.  "  It  pains  me.  You  ought 
always  to  remember  that  there  are  two  churches — Christ's  and 
Society's  ;  and  when  you  say  of  a  known  knave,  '  He  is  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Church,'  please  add,  '  not  of  Christ's,  but  Society's.'  In 
this  way,  our  Redeemer's  people  are  saved  from  undeserved  re 
proach,  and  society  receives  due  credit  for  its  own.  Who  is  that 
gentleman  on  the  left  of  the  banker  T' 

"  That,  sir,  is  a  Mr.  Morehead ;  a  remarkable  specimen  of  in 
dustrious  littleness.  He  can  tell  you  to  a  hair  how  many  letters 
there  are  in  the  Bible  ;  how  many  seams  in  a  coat ;  how  many 
pairs  of  pantaloons  are  probably  made  up  throughout  the  world 
in  a  year ;  how  many  cigars  are  smoked,  how  many  whiffs 
taken  from  them  all,  the  aggregate  of  the  ashes  made  by  them, 
the  number  of  farms  which  the  cigars  would  have  bought,  the 
number  of  clouds  which  the  smoke  would  naturally  form,  and 
the  number  of  acres  which  the  ashes  would  cover ;  the  number 
of  hats  which  each  man  wears  in  a  lifetime,  the  number  which 
have  been  made  since  the  deluge,  and  the  number  which  will 
probably  be  made  between  this  and  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  But  of  what  service  is  all  this  waste  of  thought  and  calcula 
tion  1" 

"  To  help  show  to  what  absurd  littleness  minds  will  bend 
themselves  when  endowed  with  noble  faculties.  The  principal 
enjoyment  which  this  man  finds  at  church  is  in  counting  the  num 
ber  of  attendants  ;  the  number  of  frock  and  the  number  of  dress 
^oats  ;  the  number  of  hats  with  a  certain  kind  of  feather,  and  the 
number  with  a  certain  kind  of  trimming;  how  many  wore  silks, 
how  many  satins,  and  how  many  ginghams;  how  many  were 


360  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  UR  THE  LEFT. 

over,  and  how  many  under,  a  certain  age ;  how  many  had  silk, 
how  many  yellow,  how  many  white,  and  how  many  green,  purple, 
or  black  kids ;  how  many  sentences,  words,  and  letters  were  in 
the  prayer,  how  many  in  each  hymn,  and  how  many  in  the  ser 
mon.  Ask  him  what  is  the  principal  business  of  life,  and  he  will 
answer,  To  make  statistics.  When  he  goes  home,  his  first  move 
ment  will  be  to  figure  out  the  probable  number  of  subjects  that 
were  discussed  here  to-night,  the  number  of  sentences  and  words 
spoken,  the  number  of  letters  in  all,  and  the  comparative  amount 
of  nitrogen  and  oxygen  consumed  in  their  utterance." 

"  How  absurd  !  Why  can  he  not  be  induced  to  devote  a' frac 
tion  of  this  vast  labor  to  some  useful  purpose  1" 

"Because  his  mind  can  only  comprehend  little  things.  And 
yet  the  simpleton  innocently  fancies  himself  gifted  with  compre 
hensive  views  !  Should  you  fail  to  answer  promptly  his  question 
of  How  many  tobacco  quids  are  used  up  and  fired  away  through 
out  the  world  in  a  single  year,  or,  How  many  breaths  are  drawn 
by  a  man  in  a  lifetime  of  sixty  years,  he  would  triumphantly 
set  you  down  for  an  ignoramus  without  a  particle  of  intelligence  ! 
His  companion  is  the  celebrated  Mr.  Ruffin." 

"  Celebrated  1     For  what  ?" 

"  '  RufhVs  ale !'  What  1  Never  .heard  of  it,  or  him  ?  Why, 
man — you  are  behind  the  age !  Ruffia's  ale — a  rival  to  Barclay 
and  Perkins  of  England — poisons,  swills  up,  and  sends  to  death, 
one  hundred  thousand  men  per  annum.  It  is  strongly  recom 
mended  by  nearly  all  of  our  best  physicians,  because  it — helps 
THEIR  business!  They  endorse  wines,  and  gin,  and  French 
brandies  from  the  same  worthy  motive.  Nay,  my  dear  boy  !  you 
must  get  rid  of  that  habit  of  shuddering,  when  you  hear  of  these 
things — it  is  very  impolitic  and  impolite,  believe  me !  Why, 
sir,  Mr.  Ruffin  is  a  rich  man,  a  respectable  member  of  society, 

and  a  member  also,  in  good  standing,  of  the  church  of 

society.  Yoa  see  I  improve  upon  your  suggestions !" 

"  That  gentleman  on  Mr.  Ruffin's  left?" 


WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          361 

"  Is  a  Mr.  Snillwick — a  remarkable  man ;  a  perfect  study.  We 
call  him  the  Straw  Watcher." 

"Why  so?" 

"  He  is  a  successful  politician ;  always  in  office.  Has  been 
three  times  in  Congress  ;  five  times  in  the  Legislature,  twice  in 
the  Mayoralty,  and  four  times  in  the  Common  Council,  of  which 
he  is  now  a  member." 

"  Whig  or  Democrat  ?" 

"  Neither.  He  is  simply  a  Straw  Watcher.  He  started  in  his 
political  career  as  a  Democrat.  A  brief  season,  and  the  demo 
cratic  stock  declined :  whigism  mounting  in  its  place.  He 
watched  the  straws,  changed  in  time  to  rise  with  the  new  tide, 
and  when  whigism  rose,  Mr.  Snillwick  was  a  brave  and  active 
Whig.  A  few  years,  and  the  political  wheel  took  another  turn ; 
then  Nativism  was  up — and  so  was  Mr.  Snillwick,  elected  by  a 
large  majority.  By-and-bye,  the  old  parties  united  to  rout  the 
Natives.  Mr.  Snillwick  watched  the  straws  in  time,  met  the 
changes  as  they  came,  moved  gradually  and  noiselessly,  and 
when  the  Democratic  Whigs  turned  in  their  elected  candidates, 
Mr.  S.  was  among  them,  smiling  and  rosy  as  ever.  By-and-bye, 
the  political  current  veered  in  the  Democratic  direction ;  the 
wires  were  pulled  to  arouse  the  masses ;  rum,  circulars,  flaming 
handbills  and  tickets  were  freely  distributed  ;  Irish,  Dutch,  and 
Germans  were  invited  to  rouse  up  like  men  and  strike  a  gallant 
blow  at  the  polls  for  their  fatherlands  and  freedom  ;  the  native- 
born  were  appealed  to,  in  stirring  tones,  to  stand  up  for  the  land 
for  which  their  sires  fought  and  bled,  and  the  Democratic  nomi 
nees  were  elected  with  enthusiastic  acclaim  —  Mr.  Snillwick 
coming  in  some  thousands  ahead  of  the  general  ticket !  And  so 
on,  throughout  all  the  political  changes  of  thirty  years,  Mr.  S. 
has  been  true  to  his  one  great  principle  of — watching  the  straws  ! 
Hence,  he  is  ever  on  the  winning  side.  This  would  be  a  fine 
lesson  for  you,  my  boy,  if  you  were  one  of  the  great  herd  who 
bend  all  principles  into  the  principle  of  Number  One ;  but  as, 
16 


362  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

fortunately  for  yourself,  you  are  not — the  lesson  will  be  lost 
upon  you.  For  the  great  secret  of  success  in  the  world,  whether 
in  politics  or  whatever  business,  lies  in  Mr.  Snillwick's  motto : 
To  watch  and  follow  the  straws!1' 

"And  society,  knowing  this  man's  want  of  principle,  is  willing 
to  receive  him  7" 

"  Certainly,  and  with  open  arms  ;  and  the  Church  also — that  is 
to  say,  Society's!" 

Samuel  looked  down,  mournfully. 

"Society,"  continued  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  is  so  much  accustomed 
to  knavery,  faithlessness,  and  utter  selfishness  in  politicians,  that 
they  now  look  for  these  things  in  them  as  a  legitimate  matter  of 
course.  The  chief  business  of  a  man  in  office  is,  not  to  keep  his 
oath,  but  to  break  it,  a  hundred  times  a  day,  if  need  be ;  not  to 
study  the  people's  interest,  but — his  own.  And  if,  after  leaving 
office,  he  leaves  it  poor,  society  looks  upon  him  with  mingled 
pity  and  contempt.  '  What !'  it  exclaims,  '  not  fill  his  pockets — 
not  plunder  the  people's  treasury  while  he  had  a  chance  !  He  is 
soft!'  And  then  society  sneers  at  him,  turns  its  back  upon  him, 
and  brands  him  for  a  fool !  '  The  business  of  a  politician,'  says 
society,  '  is  to  do  his  duty,  his  whole  duty,  and  nothing  but  his 
duty ;  and  his  duty,  his  whole  duty,  and  nothing  but  his  duty, 
is — to  rob  !'  When  he  fails  to  do  that,  society  declares  that  he 
has  not  done  his  duty,  and  drawing  itself  up,  with  virtuous  indig 
nation — cuts  him !" 

"  I  do  not  believe  this,"  said  Samuel,  looking  up. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  It  does  not  tally  with  my  observations,"  replied  the  young 
Christian.  "  Let  us  look  at  it  once.  You  are  yourself  one  of 
society!  Now,  sir,  would  you  cut  the  society  of  a  man  who  was 
noble  enough  to  resist  temptation  1" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  You  would  honor  him,  rather  T 

"  Certainly." 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          363 

"  Well,  you  represent  a  very  large  body  of  society ;  and 
that  is  the  only  body  whose  opinions  are  of  weight,  and  whose 
countenance  is  an  honor  to  the  recipient — because  the  individ 
uals  composing  it  are  themselves  noble,  honorable,  and  good. 
As,  in  the  Church,  there  are  two  kinds  of  Christians — Christ's  and 
Society's ;  so  in  society  there  are  two  bodies  of  sociates — the 
thoughtful,  dignified,  and  influential,  who  examine  everything  by 
the  light  of  principle  ;  and  the  unthoughtful,  undignified,  and  un- 
influential,  who  examine  nothing,  and  care  only  for  money,  show, 
and  frivolity.  But  the  latter,  although  they  may  be  the  larger 
body  of  the  two,  are  not  Society  itself,  any  more  than  Society's 
Christians  are  The  Church.  Therefore,  if  it  be  a  slander  upon 
the  people  of  our  Prince  to  say  of  a  bad  man,  '  He  is  a  member 
of  The  Church,'  because  he  has  a  pew  or  is  found  at  the  commu 
nion-table  in  one  of  God's  temples — so  is  it  equally  a  slander 
upon  society  to  call  these  latter  of  society  because  they  call 
themselves  so,  or  because  they  are  sometimes  found  in  it." 

"My  dear  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Crittenden,  "you  are — I  don't 
know  what !  There  is  no  getting  along  with  you.  You  won't 
look  at  the  world  as  it  is,  but  as  you  wish  it  to  be.  You  are 
always  taking  the  better  view !" 

"Because,"  returned  Samuel,  "the  better  view  is  always  the 
most  just !  The  world  is  not  so  bad  as  you  would  represent  it. 
It  is  wicked,  I  admit — very  wicked,  but  it  is  willing  to  be  bet 
ter — very  willing — if  men  will  only  speak  to  it  kindly,  and  not 
sneeringly,  and  give  it  credit  for  the  good  that  it  hds.  It  is  thought 
lessly,  not  wilfully,  bad.  Speak  to  it  as  to  a  brother,  and  not  as 
to  an  enemy,  and  its  goodness  will  gush  forth  like  a  torrent,  and 
amaze  and  enrapture  you  with  its  quantity  and  richness !  It  is 
true  that  now  and  then,  one  will  rise  whose  heart  is  exceedingly 
difficult  to  reach  ;  but  patience  and  continued  kindness  will  pene 
trate  to  it  in  time.  So,  all  along  The  Pathway,  the  better  view 
works  the  happiest,  and  the  best  /" 
Perhaps  so,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden. 


364:          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"  Nay,  you  will  know  it,  once  you  take  up  arms  in  earnest, 
for  Our  Prince !  You  cannot  conceive  what  a  vast  storehouse  of 
new  and  comforting  thoughts  He  kindly  puts  in  the  hearts  of  His 
people !" 

Mr.  Crittenden  smiled  at  the  young  Christian's  enthusiasm. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  not  contradict  it.  And  now,  let  me 
call  your  attention  to  that  lively,  mercurial  gentleman  who  is 
amusing  that  small  knot  of  ladies  by  the  mantel." 

"  Who  is  he  r 

"  A  witty  gentleman ;  very  witty — always  cracking  a  joke  at 
somebody  or  something.  Is  always  very  ready,  very  funny, 
and  very  cutting.  Is  into  everything  and  everybody ;  a  perfect 
battery  of  broad  humor.  Spares  neither  God  nor  man,  religion 
nor  society,  and  thinks  the  highest  use  to  which  he  can  turn  his 
mind  is  to  sting  somebody  in  a  way  that  will  make  the  world 
laugh !" 

"  Of  what  benefit  is  such  a  man  ?"  asked  Samuel,  with  his 
usual  simplicity. 

"  To  keep  society  in  a  ferment  and  away  from  Thought.  He 
helps  the  filthy  publishers,  the  fraudulent  bankers,  the  beer- 
makers,  and  the  knavish  politicians,  to  persuade  men  that  there  is 
nothing  serious  in  life  except  humbug,  bitterness,  vice,  and  fri 
volity.  He  is  never  happy  save  when  witty ;  and  every  joke 
stings  some  one,  and  makes  a  thousand  or  more  roar.  He  flings 
a  joke  at  a  picture,  and  the  unfortunate  artist  is  from  that  moment 
miserable  and  unhappy — perhaps  a  ruined  man.  He  throws  a 
jest  at  a  singer,  who  is  thenceforth  a  nobody ;  at  a  clergyman, 
and  the  heart  of  a  good  man  is  pained,  his  friends  grieved,  and 
his  influence  for  a  time  lost.  But  what  then  ? — the  witty  man  has 
amused  himself,  showed  his  contempt  for  one  of  Christ's  work 
men,  and  induced  a  thousand  others  to  unwittingly  abandon  their 
respect  for  a  sacred  calling.  In  this  way  he  helps,  little  by  little, 
to  lessen  the  world's  confidence  in  everything  high  and  good." 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          365 

"  He  is  a  writer,  then  ?" 

"  Yes — the  editor  of  a  witty  paper,  The  Jolly  Sneerer,  which, 
with  The  Satanic  Chuckle,  and  The  Felon's  Hue  and  Cry^  are 
the  chief  organs  of  the  Sin-King  for  corrupting  the  thoughtless  of 
our  Metropolis,  and  sweeping  from  their  minds  every  vestige  of 
respect  for  good  men  and  good  things.  Take  care — you  are  shud 
dering  again  !" 

"You  make  my  blood  creep  with  your  statements.  Why 
don't  some  great  good  mind  attempt  to  reform  the  editors  and 
publishers  of  those  journals  ?" 

"  Because  it  would  be  impossible." 

"  You  forget  that  he  would  have  GOD  and  CHRIST  upon  his 
side !" 

"  Well,  well ;  I  yield.  You  have  such  an  original  way  of 
removing  obstacles — a  way  so  entirely  new  to  me,  that  I  cannot 
urge  anything  against  it.  Do  you  see  that  gentleman  who  is 
wiping  the  sweat  from  his  forehead  ?" 

"  Certainly.     Who  is  he?" 

"  Another  great  man — in  his  way.  He  is  the  notorious  Mr. 
LifFerts.  What,  you  never  heard  of  him  ?  My  dear  boy,  where 
have  you  kept  yourself!  Not  to  know  Mr.  Lifferts  is,  as  Shak- 
spere  says,  *  to  argue  thyself  unknown.'  Mr.  LifFerts  keeps  a  vast 
palace  where  respectable  promenaders  can  drop  in  and  partake 
of  a  cup  of  tea,  chocolate,  or  coffee,  nicely  intermixed  with — 
brandy,  gin,  or  whisky,  according  to  their  tastes.  In  this  way, 
he,  every  year,  gently  prepares  thousands  upon  thousands  of  our 
young  women  and  young  men  to  take  their  liquor  without  the 
friendly  aid  of  coffee,  chocolate,  or  tea !  And  in  this  way  he 
contributes  his  share  of  victims  to  the  general  maelstrom.  His 
saloon  is  the  primary  school  where  our  young  women  and  young 
men  take  their  first  lessons  in  rum-drinking.  It  is  he  who  fits 
them  for  the  regular  bar-rooms  and  corner  groceries.  An  import 
ant  individual — eh  T' 


366          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Who  is  that  gentlemen  on  his  left  ?' 

"  Another  contributor  to  the  great  cauldron  :  a  retired  bankrupt, 
who  defrauded  his  creditors  out  of  a  round  million,  and  now 
amuses  himself  by  reading  his  favorite  journal,  The.  Satanic 
Chuckle,  smiling  over  the  ruin  of  those  whom  he  rendered  pen 
niless,  and  in  maintaining  a  splendid  position  in  society  and  soci 
ety's  church — thereby  convincing  men  that  neither  the  Church 
nor  society  frown  upon  the  conduct  of  great  rascals :  thus  destroy 
ing  their  confidence  in  both." 

"  That  gentleman  who  is  talking  with  Isabella — " 

"  Is  a  hardware  dealer,  a  member  of  society's  Church,  and  is 
remarkable  for  never  having  uttered  a  pleasant  word  in  his  life. 
He  is  generally  feared,  and  thoroughly  disliked." 

"For  what1?" 

"  His  acrimonious  spirit.  He  takes  a  special  delight  in  dis 
playing  his  venom,  and  uttering  bitter  sneers.  He  has  a  qnick 
eye,  and  always  looks  at  things  in  their  most  hideous  light.  His 
name  is  Griscom,  but  he  is  better  known  as  '  the  sarcastic  gen 
tleman.'  He  takes  great  pleasure  in  railing  at  those  things  which 
pure  minds  regard  with  reverence." 

"That  old  gentleman  who  is  conversing  so  snappishly  with 
that  old  lady  in  ringlets'?" 

"  Is  a  Mr.  Jessup — a  cotton-broker.  He  is  a  bosom  friend  of 
the  sarcastic  gentleman,  and  is  generally  known  among  his  ac 
quaintance  as  '  The  Little  Wasp.'  He  is  very  rich,  and  very 
bitter,  and  enjoys  himself  by  stinging  people." 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman  behind  him  T' 

"  A  Mr.  Whipple  ;  a  gentleman  of  leisure ;  who  has  nothing 
to  do  but  to  amuse  himself,  and  finds  that  very  hard  work.  His 
father  left  him  three  hundred  thousand  in  cash  and  property, 
and — ^nothing  else.  He  is  without  a  mind,  a  hope,  or  an  aim. 
He  finds  talking  very  hard  work,  and  talks  therefore  only  when 
compelled.  He  is  very  fond,  however,  of  being  looked  at  by 
the  ladies  most  of  whom  think  him  handsome,  because  his  fortune 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  367 

is.  Observe,  there  are  three  young  twenties  and  two  twenty- 
fives  struggling  with  each  other  to  catch  his  attention.  But  their 
labor  will  amount  to  nothing.  He  is  too  indolent  to  feel  an 
interest  even  in  black  eyes.  Still  he  has  been  known  this  eve 
ning  to  make  a  remark." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  concerning  our  friend  Miriam.  He  thinks  '  she  might 
suit  him.' " 

Samuel  turned  slightly  pale. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?"  asked  Mr.  Crittenden,  noticing  the 
change  in  his  features. 

"I  would  rather  see  Miss  Selden  wedded  to  a  worthier  man," 
replied  Samuel,  growing  paler  than  before. 

"  Bravo !"  mused  Mr.  Crittenden.  "  I  know  the  secret  of  your 
heart,  my  friend  !"  Then  speaking  aloud,  he  said — "  One  thing 
is  certain :  Miriam  will  not  marry  one  who  is  unworthy  of  her. 
She  is  too  good  for  that !  By-the-way,  her  cousin  shines  out 
to-night.  She  is  decidedly  killing !" 

"  Miss  Landon  shows  well  in  a  drawing-room,"  returned  Sam 
uel,  tranquilly. 

"  Good  !  Mirrry  may  laugh  at  the  rivalry  of  her  bold  cousin. 
My  darling  is  safe  !"  mused  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  Pray,  who  is  that  gentleman  with  the  tnoustache,  who  is 
conversing  in  the  corner,  there,  with  that  middle-aged  lady  ?" 

"  An  important  contributor  to  the  social  cauldron.  That,  sir, 
is  one  of  the  arrantest  scoundrels  that  ever  had  the  entree  of 
society." 

"  His  business  ?" 

"  That  of  a  professional  libertine !  My  dear  boy !  what  is  the 
matter?  You  are  shuddering  again  !"% 

"  It  is  a  weakness  to  which  I  am  liable  when  in  the  presence 
of  deliberate  evil,"  replied  Samuel,  his  mild,  manly  features 
overshadowed  with  an  air  of  mingled  pain  and  horror.  "  And 
is  this  bad  man  received  in  society,  like  the  rest  1" 


368  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Certainly ;  and  in  society's  church,  too." 

"  One  would  think  that  even  society's  church  would  not  coun 
tenance  a  beast,"  observed  Samuel. 

"  Quite  a  mistake.  Society's  church  will  receive  any  one  who 
has  money." 

"  This  man  is  rich,  then  ?" 

"He  is  rated  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  thouu^,  which  he  will 
come  into  possession  of  at  the  death  of  his  fataer,  who  i.s  march 
ing  rapidly  to  his  grave  with  consumption." 

"  Is  he  a  converted  man  ?" 

"  He  has  been  a  member  of  society's  chun  i  for  twenty  years, 
but  was  never  very  particular  about  other  people's  rights  or 
feelings.  When  he  dies,  the  everlasting  gulf  yill  be  richer  in  iA,s 
population  by  one  great  rascal." 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  to  save  him  bef  re  he  dies  1"  asked 
Samuel,  naively.  "  Our  Prince  is  very  gc  od,  and  His  Father 
very  kind,  you  know."  ;.» 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Mr.  Crittenden.  '  The  old  fellow  is  a 
proud,  harsh,  spiteful  old  codger,  who  never  did  a  generous  thing 
in  his  life.  He  has  an  idea  that  all  the  worfsd  was  made  for, him 
self.  He  is  cruel,  selfish,  and  sordid,  to  the  last  degree.  He 
regards  religion  as  a  capital  thing  to  make  money  out  of,  and 
believes  that  it  was  projected  by  men,  in  the  beginning,  for  no 
other  purpose.  He  regards  prayer  and  preaching  as  so  much 
machinery  to  sustain  an  institution  whose  principal  object  is  to 
keep  the  world  in  order.  He  has  no  belief  in  its  divine  origin. 
Future  happiness  and  future  punishment  he  regards  as  all  fudge. 
He  is  not  certain  of  it,  but  he  inclines  to  that  impression.  And 
this,  my  dear  boy !  is  the  private  belief  of  three-fourths  of  soci 
ety's  church.  There — you  are  shuddering  again  !" 

"  You  do  not  mean  this  !"  said  Samuel,  uneasily. 

"  I  do,  most  certainly." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          369 

"  There  is  no  foundation  in  the  Bible  for  any  such  frightful^ 
doctrine." 

"  You  forget  that  society's  church  never  read  the  Bible,  and 
care  as  little  about  what  it  teaches  as  they  do  for  what  becomes 
of  their  next-door  neighbor." 

"But  why  deceive  themselves  with  so  absurd  a  doctrine?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  very  satisfactory  one.  They  do  not  desire  to 
change  from  their  present  way  of  doing.  They  find  surface  hon 
esty,  surface  genuineness,  surface  piety,  and  humbugging  each 
other,  very  pleasant,  very  amusing,  and  very  gratifying.  Hence, 
a  doctrine  which  will  favor  or  admit  of  their  continuance  in  hum 
bug,  is  very  acceptable.  This  is  the  main  reason  why  clergymen 
meet  with  so  little  success  among  our  fashionables,  who  do  not 
wish,  and  will  not  allow  themselves  to  be  converted.  They  want 
a  doctrine  which  will  permit  them  to  do  as  they  like  ;  when  they 
can't  find  it  in  the  Word  of  God,  they  look  for  it  in  the  word  of 
society,  and  there  they  find  it !" 

"  Dear  friend,  you  draw  frightful  pictures  !" 

"  Do  you  doubt  their  accuracy  ?" 

"  I  cannot  do  otherwise." 

"  In  that  case,  I  must  bring  up  a  witness !"  observed  Mr.  Crit- 
tenden,  playfully.  Then  slightly  elevating  his  voice,  he  said, 
"  Mr.  Griscom — one  word !" 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  that  worthy.     "  What  is  it  ?" 

"My  friend,  here,  is  anxious  to  know  the  materials  of  fashion 
able  society.  Will  you,  who  understand  the  subject  so  well,  be 
kind  enough  to  enlighten  him  ?" 

"  Fashionable  society,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  "  is  made 
up,  in  its  males,  of  men  who  have  not  yet  failed ;  in  its  females, 
of  women  who  still  have  credit  at  Stewart's,  on  account  of  the 
undiscovered  insolvency  of  their  husbands." 

The  tittering  of  the  assembly  told  the  speaker  that  he  had 
made  a  hit. 

16* 


370          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

*     "Anything  more  in  my  way  1"  he  asked,  patronizingly. 

"  Nothing  just  now,  Mr.  Griscom,"  answered  Mr.  Crittenden. 
"  Thank  you !"  Then  turning  to  Samuel,  he  said,  "  You  see  I 
am  not  very  wide  of  the  truth  in  my  pictures !" 

"  Your  witness  is  one  who  enjoys  a  fling  at  the  poor  prisoner 
at  the  bar !"  returned  Samuel,  with  a  mournful  smile.  "  Hence, 
his  testimony  is  of  but  little  account." 

"  My  dear  boy  !  you  have  the  hopefullest  of  hearts." 

"  And  why  should  not  you,  Mr.  Crittenden  1  What  good  in 
railing  at  evils  ?  Why  not  make  an  effort  either  to  lessen,  or  to 
remove  them  altogether  1  Say  you  should  see  a  child  running 
wild  on  a  Sabbath  morning  in  the  street  ?  Would  you  find  any 
satisfaction  in  scoffing  at  the  carelessness  or  indifference  of  its 
parents  ?  How  much  better,  how  much  more  gratifying,  to  take 
it  by  the  hand,  and  lead  gently  it  to  some  Sabbath  school,  where  it 
would  hear  of  good  things,  which  might  change  the  whole  tenor 
of  its  thoughts,  the  whole  tone  of  its  future  1  I  have  never  seen 
the  beneficial  effects  of  a  sneer  ;  but  I  have  seen,  and  experienced, 
great  joy  in  witnessing,  the  good  results  of  effort.  And  therefore 
I  am  hopeful.  Come,  dear  friend — let  us  not  scoff  at  men's 
blindness  or  infirmities,  but  do  something  which  will  help  them 
to  see  better  and  to  get  strong.  They  will  thank  us  for  that ; 
but  they  would  hate  us  for  the  sneer." 

"  Nay,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  they  would  neither  thank  you 
for  your  kindness,  nor  appreciate  the  nobleness  of  your  motive." 

"If  they  would  not,  HE  would!" 

"  There  you  are  again !"  observed  his  companion,  with  a  laugh. 
"  What  is  the  good  of  bringing  up  one's  knowledge  of  the 
world  before  you!  Why  don't  you  give  a  poor  fellow  a 
chance  ?" 

"  You  won't  give  yourself  a  chance !  You  always  start  from 
the  wrong  point.  Take  a  Christian's,  instead  of  a  worldling's 
view  of  these  things,  and  you  will  always  come  off  with  satisfac- 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         371 

tion  to  your  inmost  heart.  But  we  have  wandered  away  from 
the  libertine." 

"And  fortunately.  He  completes  my  gallery  of  living 
portraits.  I  have  called  your  attention  to  them,  to  show  you 
what  a  dirty  set  of  dogs  are  arrayed  in  society  on  the  side  of 
evil.  These  rascals,  and  the  professions  which  they  represent, 
are  the  leading  contributors  to  the  cauldron  of  social  vice  and 
error.  These  are  the  creatures  who  keep  society  in  its  present 
corrupt  state.  Were  it  not  for  a  vicious  literature,  which  under 
mines  the  morals  of  all  classes ;  for  little  minds,  who  make  great 
ado  over  the  smallest  and  absurd est  of  human  aims;  for  society's 
gross  error  in  admitting  known  knaves  into  its  circle ;  for  the 
dirty  dogs,  who  manufacture  poisonous  drinks ;  for  the  unprin 
cipled  beasts  who,  in  their  gorgeous  saloons,  educate  the  people 
up  to  easy  drunkenness  ;  for  the  base  rascals  who  sell  this  poison 
in  its  naked  form ;  for  the  mean  witlings  of  the  press,  whose 
highest  ambition  is  to  sneer  at  Jehovah,  and  everything  which 
bears  a  show  of  goodness ;  for  the  Satanic  Chuckles  which  pander 
to  and  keep  alive  the  lowest  of  all  human  ambitions,  and  the 
vilest  of  all  human  thoughts ;  for  dishonest  members  of  the 
Church,  who  destroy  men's  confidence  in,  and  respect  for,  religion ; 
for  wealthy  idleness,  which  leads  wealthy  thoughtlessness  to 
believe  that  man's  highest  destiny  is  simply  to  amuse  himself, 
and  to  cultivate  selfishness  ;  for  society's  blunder  in  not  branding 
libertines  as  the  worst  of  felons,  or  destroying  them  like  other 
serpents,  instead  of  admitting  them  into  the  drawing-room  or  the 
Church ;  for  society's  great  error  in  not  avoiding  all  scoffers  at 
religion,  honesty,  or  purity,  as  it  would  any  common  lunatic 
whose  freedom  and  want  of  sense  were  dangerous  to  the  com 
mon  weal : — but  for  these,  the  world,  aided  by  a  noble  pulpit, 
and  a  noble  literature,  would  soon  banish  all  minor  evils,  and 
right  itself." 

"  Very  true,  sir,"  said  Samuel.     "  And  now  that  we   know 


372         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

where  the  fountains  of  all  this  mischief  are,  let  us  go  to  work  and 
dry  them  up." 

"Us?" 

"  Certainly.  Let  us  at  it,  in  the  name  of  our  King  and  Prince. 
With  Them  on  our  side,  we  shall  be  equal  to  a  whole  army  !" 

Mr.  Crittenden  looked  with  mingled  amazement  and  admira 
tion  at  the  sublime  confidence  and  marvellous  faith  of  the  young 
Christian.  Then  extending  his  hand,  he  said,  with  emotion — 

"I  am  with  you,  henceforth,  in  your  great  enterprises.  Com 
mand  me,  sir,  as  your  lieutenant.  From  this  hour  I  am  a  cam 
paigner  for  Our  Lord !" 

"  Oh,  sir !  you  will  find  His  service  so  very  easy,  sweet,  and 
good !  Oh,  what  great  things  we'll  df>  together  for  His  cause  ! 
You — you,"  he  repeated,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  you  make  me  so 
happy — happier  than  I  can  express !" 

They  shook  hands,  warmly. 

"Hark!"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  the  conversation  is  becoming 
general.  We  must  take  part  in  it.  Who  knows  how  a  good 
word  from  us,  to-night,  may  tell  in  the  future  for  Our  Prince !" 

"  The  right  spirit,  sir  !"  said  Samuel,  joyfully. 

"  Hark !  They  are  attacking  Him  now.  The  fight  is  begun — 
perhaps  to  try  our  zeal.  Who  knows  ?  We  must  mingle  in  the 
fray.  His  service !" 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Samuel,  gently.  "  Let's  bide  our  time, 
till  we  can  deal  a  telling  blow." 

"Agreed!" 

"  Life,"  said  Mr.  Sly,  in  answer  to  a  query  from  Mr.  Jessup, 
"  is  a  small  affair  of  fifty  or  sixty  years." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Townsend  ?" 

"Life,"  answered  that  gentleman,  "is  simply  a  bitter  jest." 

Mr.  Crittenden  pressed  his  companion's  arm. 

"  You  do  not  believe  that  /"  said  Samuel,  stepping  forward. 

"No?     Why  not  T 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          373 

"  Simply  because  it  is  not  true." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  merchant,  drawing  himself  up, 
"  you  are  very  complimentary  !" 

"  Young  men,  with  neither  knowledge  nor  experience,  are  so 
very  wise  !"  observed  the  cotton-broker.  "  Let's  see,"  he  added, 
looking  around  at  the  company  to  catch  their  attention  and 
invite  their  admiration,  "  there's  a  glorious  old  proverb — '  The 
young  man  is  proud  in  his  little  wisdom  and  self-conceit !'  " 

"You  have  quoted  the  proverb  well,  sir,"  said  Samuel,  calmly. 
"  But  there  is  also  another — I  mean  it  not  unkindly — which  runs 
thus :  '  Wisdom  follows  not  always  with  gray  hairs  !' " 

The  cotton-broker  blushed,  and  eyed  the  young  man  spitefully. 

"  There  is  a  higher  and  better  wisdom  than  that  which  comes 
from  a  long  and  bitter  experience  with  the  world,"  said  Samuel, 
observing  his  glance  with  pain.  "  Who  has  not  learned  that, 
though  he  have  learned  all  things  else,  has  learned,  nothing.  The 
little  child  who  has  a  single  grain  of  faith  in  it,  or  has  been 
favored  with  one  lone  glimpse  of  it,  is  a  giant  to  him  in  know 
ledge,  though  he  bear  above  his  brow  the  baldness  or  the  silver 
of  whole  centuries." 

"  Yes,"  sneered  the  cotton-broker,  "  cant !" 

"  No,"  returned  Samuel,  with  mild  irnpressiveness — "  Truth, 
which  neither  the  young  man's  pretensions,  nor  the  old  man's 
experience,  can  set  aside.  What  is  the  value  of  that  experience 
which  teaches  us  faith  only  in — our  own  wisdom  1  The  man  who 
has  expended  a  long  life  in  seeking  wealth  among  the  mountains, 
talks  learnedly  of  their  barrenness ;  and  smiles  incredulously 
when  he  is  told  that  another,  who  has  gone  over  only  a  fourth 
of  their  surface,  has  picked  up  a  pocketful  of  rubies.  And  yet 
the  rubies  were  in  the  mountains  when  he — the  man  of  many 
years — went  through  them.  That  he  did  not  find  the  precious 
stones,  was  not  that  he  had  no  eyes,  but  because  he  did  not  turn 
them  in  the  right  direction.  Now,  I  put  it  to  your  candor — are 


374          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  rubies  worth  one  mill  the  less,  because  another  found 
them1?" 

"  Ha,  ha !  ho,  ho !  he,  he !"  said  Mr.  Jessup,  with  his  usual  face- 
tiousness.  "  Very  clear,  indeed  !  Eeminds  me  of  a  certain 
little  Solomon  who  always  had  a  funny  way  of  putting  on  great 
airs  when  indulging  in  the  most  oracular  of — commonplaces ! 
And  now,  sir,  allow  me  to  put  it  to  your  candor :  What" — 
twirling  his  gray  beard  with  derisive  deference,  "  has  your  mar 
vellous  sagacity  discovered,  that  I  have  not  ?" 

"One  thing  important:  respect  for  truth,  let  it  come  from 
whatever  well,"  replied  Samuel.  "  Life  is  not  a  bitter  jest.  But 
if  a  man  will  look  upon  it  in  that  light,  he  loses  all  the  delicious 
sweetness  of  the  better  view.  From  childhood  to  old  age,  man's 
life  is  a  perpetual  succession  of  solemn  compacts  —  with  his 
parents,  love  and  obedience ;  with  his  teachers,  application  to  his 
studies ;  with  his  playmates,  gentleness  and  fairness ;  in  riper 
years,  with  society,  courtesy;  with  business,  diligence  and  prompt 
honesty ;  with  the  State,  faithful  citizenship ;  in  peace,  prompt 
service  in  her  hour  of  peril ;  with  the  partner  of  his  days,  confi 
dence,  faithfulness,  and  love ;  with  the  world,  concord ;  with 
himself,  earnest  manliness  of  thought  and  action ;  with  his  Maker, 
pure  allegiance  and  love.  Who  keeps  these  compacts,  finds  life 
no  bitter  jest,  but  a  thing  of  earnestness,  of  beauty,  peace,  and 
joy — a  tranquil  stream,  bearing  him  gently  on  to  the  green  shores 
of  the  Bright  Beyond !" 

"  I  yield,"  laughed  Mr.  Townsend.    "  The  compacts  floor  me !" 

"  Our  young  friend,"  sneered  the  cotton-broker.  "  reminds  me 
of  my  pastor,  who  is  always  prepared  with  a  capital  homily,  which 
will  do  for  any  enemy  that  comes  along." 

"  Does  he  favor  you  with  many  ?"  asked  the  witty  editor. 

"  Every  time  he  sees  me." 

"  Then  you  are  one  of  his  enemies  ?" 

"  Sir  !"  exclaimed  the  cotton-broker,  reddening,  "  you  are — w 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  375 

"  Quite  cool — which,  I  regret  to  say,  you  are  not !"  laughed 
the  witty  editor.  "  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Jessup,  you  are  giving  your 
self  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  heat.  The  room  is  already  hot 
enough,  and  if  you  add  to  it,  uselessly,  you  will  render  us  all 
exceedingly  uncomfortable." 

"  Sir — you  are  a — " 

"  Now,  don't— don't,  Mr.  Jessup,  I  beg  of  you  ;  or  we  shall 
be  compelled  to  hoist  the  windows,  and  that,  at  this  season,  which 
is  very  inclement,  might  prove  dangerous.  You  know  how 
easily  young  people  catch  cold !" 

The  cotton-broker  gnawed  his  lip  quite  fiercely  ;  but  disdained 
to  reply. 

"  Talking  of  preachers,"  said  the  witty  editor,  "  did  any  of  you 
ever  hear  the  learned  Dr.  Aston  1" 

All  declared  that  they  had  "  never  had  that  pleasure." 

"  He  is  a  very  learned  man,''  continued  the  witty  editor 
"  Mr.  Ruffin,  he  would  suit  you  to  a  T." 

"  Ah,  indeed1?"  said  the  beer-maker,  quite  delighted. 

"  Yes,  sir.     He  is  so  learned  !" 

"  How  learned  ?" 

"  Almost  learned  enough  to  explain  the  Scriptures  so  his  con 
gregation  can  understand  them,  but — not  quite !" 

"  And  how  would  that  suit  me,  sir  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Ruffin, 
sternly. 

"  Because,"  said  the  witty  editor,  "  it  would  be  well  for  a  man 
of  your  business,  when  he  gets  up  to  the  last  Bar,  to  J>e  able  to 
say  that  he  didn't  understand  the  Scriptures !" 

"  Sir,"  said  the  beer-maker,  "  your  wit  is  a  good  deal  like 
your  paper — very  low  and  vulgar !" 

"  Observe  how  Satan's  people  appreciate  each  other !"  whis 
pered  Mr.  Crittenden  to  Samuel. 

"  And  your  wit,"  returned  the  editor  of  The  Jolly  Sneerer, 
"  is  a  good  deal  like  your  ale — very  flat,  stupefying  and  insipid !" 


376  WHICH:.  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

The  beer-maker  imitated  his  illustrious  predecessor,  the  cot 
ton-broker,  by  disdaining  to  reply. 

The  witty  editor  looked  round  him  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror, 
and  taking  courage  from  his  double  triumph,  he  concluded  to 
finish  off  with  Samuel  himself. 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Leland,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  some  acquaint 
ance  with  the  pulpit  ?" 

"  A  slight  acquaintance  but  a  very  great  respect  for  it,  sir." 

"  Ah !  that  is  owing,  I  apprehend,  to  your  education.  Now 
my  acquaintance  with  preachers  is  more  extensive  than  my 
respect  for  them !" 

"  That,  sir,"  replied  Samuel,  quietly,  "  is  owing  to  your  want 
of  education !" 

The  laugh  that  followed  this  quiet  rebuke  informed  the  witty 
editor  that  he  had  not  won  his  proposed  victory — exactly. 

"  You  got  a  benefit  that  time,  Mr.  Impudence !"  chuckled  the 
cotton-broker.  "  You  will  draw  in  your  horns  now,  I  presume  1" 

"And  hide  your  diminished  head  in  some  out-of-the-way 
corner,"  added  the  brewer,  enjoying  his  enemy's  discomfiture. 
"  Shall  I  give  you  an  order  for  a  glass  of  my  ale  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,"  returned  the  witty  editor,  "  I  am  very  particu 
lar  about  what  I  drink.  It  is  a  weakness,  I  know ;  but  I  can't 
get  over  it !" 

"  You  don't  like  anything  insipid  V  sneered  the  cotton-broker. 

"  No,  sir — nor  old,  either !" 

"  Then,  I  presume,"  returned  the  cotton-broker,  with  an  air  of 
spiteful  triumph,  "  that  you  never  read  your  re- vamped  jokes  in 
your  own  paper !" 

The  witty  editor  turned  livid,  and,  in  his  turn,  disdained  to 
reply. 

"Mr.  Griscom,"  asked  Isabella,  at  the  suggestion  of  her  un 
cle,  who  desired  to  keep  up  the  excitement,  "  what  is  your  opin 
ion  of  modern  religion  1" 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          377 

"  If  that  fellow  grows  impudent,"  whispered  Mr.  Crittenden, 
"  you  must  take  him  in  hand  !" 

Samuel  nodded,  and  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  party  addressed. 

"  Modern  religion,  Miss  Landon,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman, 
with  a  knowing  sneer,  "  is  a  hum — bug  !" 

"  Why  so,  sir  ?"  demanded  Samuel.  "  There  is  no  difference 
between  the  Church  of  to-day  and  the  Church  in  the  days  of  the 
Apostles.  We  believe  as  they  believed— what  Christ  taught. 
How,  then,  is  modern  religion — which  is  simply  the  same  as  that 
of  the  earliest  times — a  humbug  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  /"  was  the  logical  reply  ;  "  because  its  humbug 
is  visible  to  the  dullest  eye;  because  for  whatever  may  be 
dragged  up  in  its  favor,  more  can  be  adduced  to  prove  that  its 
evil  more  than  counterbalances  its  good  !" 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Griscom,"  said  Samuel,  "  you  will  not  forget 
in  whose  presence  you  are  saying  this  !" 

"  In  whose  presence,  sir !"  demanded  the  sarcastic  gentleman. 

"  In  your  MAKER'S,  sir !  In  your  Maker's,  as  well  as  in  that 
of  another  who  will  record  every  unjust  word  that  may  be 
uttered  here.  Pray,  do  not  consider  me  impertinent  or  obtru 
sive  :  I  speak  not  in  the  spirit  of  either.  But  I  will  take  it  as  a 
favor,  if  you  will  kindly  refrain  from  making  any  unfair  stric 
tures  upon  an  institution  which  was  phtuted  by  the  hand  of  God, 
and  which  draws  its  vitality  from  His  Son  !" 

"  I  have  a  very  high  respect  for  you,  Mr.  Leland,"  sneered 
the  sarcastic  gentleman,  "  but  a  still  higher  regard  for — free 
dom  of  speech !  As  to  the  recording  angel,  and  all  that  non 
sense,  it  will  do  to  frighten  children  with,  but  not  me  /" 

The  character  and  tone  of  this  reply  precluded  the  neces 
sity  of  a  reply ;  and  Samuel  resumed  his  seat  with  an  air  of 
pain. 

"  You  say,  Mr.  Grisoom,"  ventured  Mr.  Townsend,  for  the 
purpose  of  drawing  him  out,  "  that  modern  religion  is  a  hum 
bug.  Wherein  T 


378          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Wherein  f  repeated  the  sarcastic  gentleman.  "  In  every 
thing  that  we  can  see  of  it ;  what  we  cannot  see  of  it,  I  have 
nothing  to  remark  upon,  lest,"  he  added,  with  a  sneering  glance 
at  Samuel,  who  was  conversing  in  a  low  tone  with  Mr.  Critten- 
den,  "  the  recording  angel  should  make  a  serious  entry  opposite 
my  humble  name !" 

"  Come,  come,  Griscom,  my  boy,"  said  the  cotton-broker,  de 
risively,  "  draw  it  mild  !  We  must  have  some  respect  for  our 
young  friend's  tenderness — here!"  he  added,  pointing,  with  a 
quiet  chuckle,  to  his  head. 

"A  poor  joke !"  remarked  Isabella,  scornfully,  "  and  as  vener 
able  as  its  maker !" 

"  Nay,  miss,"  returned  the  disconcerted  cotton-broker,  with  a 
malicious  smile,  "  I  was  not  awj^e  of  your  touchiness  in  that  di 
rection,  or  I  should  have  had  mercy  upon  your — weakness  /" 

Isabella  flushed  to  her  very  temples,  but  mastering  her  temper 
as  quickly  as  it  had  risen,  she  returned,  in  a  low  dulcet  tone, 
which  was  the  more  cutting  for  the  peculiar  smile  with  which  it 
was  accompanied — 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Jessup,  don't  spare  your  wit,  which  is  perfectly 
pointless  ;  but  do  save  me  from  the  humiliating  consciousness  that 
you  could  have  the  least  consideration  for  any  lady,  and  least  of 
all  for  me  /"  *• 

"  Nay,  Miss  Landon,"  returned  the  cotton-broker,  with  a  ma 
lignant  sparkle,  "  /  have  no  design  of  entering  the  lists  for  so 
amiable  a  heart,  I  assure  you !" 

"  You  give  me  a  new  lease  of  life,  Mr.  Jessup  !"  said  Isabella. 
"The  bare  thought  of  having  so  young  and  spruce  a  cavalier  in 
my  train,  would  make  me  die  of — laughter !" 

This  fling  at  his  wrinkles  rather  disconcerted  the  snappish  old 
bachelor,  who  replied — 

"  Old  age  is  respectable,  miss  !" 

"  Very  true,  sir,  when  it  does  not  aspire  to  be  thought  young  ; 
then,  it  is  simply  ridiculous !" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          379 

With  these  words,  Isabella  turned  her  back  upon  the  old  gen 
tleman,  and  opened  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Brigham. 

Mr.  Jessup  smiled,  and — bit  his  lip. 

"  But  all  this,"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  for  the  double  purpose  of 
directing  attention  from  the  defeated  old  bachelor,  who  looked 
as  if  he  was  sitting  upon  nettles,  and  of  pitting  his  young  favor- ' 
ite,  who  had  no  suspicion  of  his  design,  against  the  sarcastic  gen 
tleman,  "  all  this  is  apart  from  the  main  question.  Mr.  Griscom 
affirms  that  modern  religion  is  a  humbug  in  all  its  visible  points. 
Now  a  charge  like  that,  coming  from  so  keen  an  observer  as  Mr. 
Griscom,  is  entitled  to  consideration.  But  then,  again,  although 
I  have  the  highest  respect  for  Mr.  Griscom's  vast  discerning 
powers,  I,  for  one,  must  be  permitted  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of 
his  statement,  unless  Mr.  Griscom  shall  see  fit  to  favor  us  with 
the  proofs.  In  that  case,  indeed — as  who  can  resist  conviction  ? — 
I  might  be  tempted  to  take  the  same  stand." 

"  You  have  too  much  intelligence  for*  that !"  said  a  low,  sweet 
voice  on  his  left. 

"  We'll  see  about  that,  Miriam,  by  the  time  our  satirical  friend 
gets  through  !"  answered  her  uncle,  in  a  laughing  whisper. 

"  Men,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
knew  all  about  it,  and  more  too,  "  men  join  the  Church  from  one 
of  two  motives :  either  to  extend  their  business,  or  to  secure  a 
social  position.  When  you  see  an  individual  becoming  what  the 
world  calls  pious,  you  may  safely  set  him  down  as  having  a  de 
sign  which  a  reputation  for  piety  will  assist  him  in  carrying  into 
effect.  In  fact,  it  is  a  good  rule  to  go  by,  that  The  more  religious 
a  man  is,  the  greater  is  his  knavery.  I  always  avoid  a  pious 
man,  for  fear  he  will  pick  my  pocket.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  I  have  seen  the  world,  and  studied  it ;  and  I 
flatter  myself  I  have  not  studied  it  in  vain." 

"  How  old  are  you,  sir  V  asked  Samuel. 

"  Fifty  years,'r  answered  the  sarcastic  gentleman. 

"  And  that  is  the  sum  of  your  wisdom  !     Heaven  help  you ! 


380        WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Why,  sir,  there   are   little  children  in  our  Sabbath  school  who 
know  more  than  that !" 

"  Ah,  indeed  !"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  showing  his  teeth 
in  a  sardonic  laugh.  "  Little  children  ?" 

"  Little  children,  sir — who  have  learned  how  to  cherish  and 
reverence  an  institution  which,  apart  from  its  higher  claims, 
teaches  them  to  protect  the  helpless,  to  heal  the  sick,  to  clothe 
the  naked,  to  forgive  their  enemies,  and  to  do  good  unto  all 
men." 

"  Very  pretty  things  to— preach  /"  sneered  the  hardware  dealer. 

"  And  very  comforting  to  practise  /"  returned  Samuel. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  of  some  who  do  that !" 

"All  of  God's  people  do  it!" 

The  hardware  dealer  laughed  outright. 

"  You  are  a  very  amusing  individual !"  he  observed,  derisively. 
"  We  have  six  hundred  members  in  our  church,  and  I  have 
yet  to  learn  that  they  disturb  themselves  very  seriously  in  that 
way !" 

"  There  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  facts  in  the  Church  and 
the  facts  in  your  mind,  Mr.  Griscom !  If  you  take  no  pains  to 
get  at  the  real  ones,  you  cannot  expect  that  they  will  force  them 
selves  upon  your  notice.  And  yet  there  are  more  exemplars 
of  practical  Christianity  among  your  congregation  than  you  have 
any  idea  of.  I  am  myself  acquainted  with  seven  ;  all  of  whom 
are  noble  monuments  of  Christian  goodness  !" 

"Fudge!" 

"  O  sir,  why  do  you  discredit  this,  without  first  making  some 
inquiry  concerning  it  ?"  said  Samuel,  reproachfully.  "  Why  doubt 
the  existence  of  love,  meekness,  gentleness,  benevolence,  and 
single-minded  piety,  because  they  do  not  come  under  your  own 
observation,  and  because  they  do  not  appear  in  the  channels  in 
which  you  move  ?  ¥ake  a  stroll  in  their  channels,  and  you 
will  find  them  abundant  as  the  stars." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          381 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Leland,"  smiled  the  hardware  dealer,  ironically, 
"  you  have  a  fertile  imagination.  It  is  so  singular  that  you  should 
see  so  much  more  in  your,  eight-and-twenty  years  than  I  have 
been  able  to  discover  in  fifty ;  and  mine  are  inquiring  eyes,  be 
lieve  me !" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  returned  Samuel,  "  why  persist  in  a  disbelief  in 
human  goodness — why  draw  a  wilful  veil  between  your  mind — 
bright  only  with  deceptive  views,  and  the  real  ?  Man  of  fifty 
years !"  he  added,  in  a  tone  which  electrified  the  assembly,  "  you 
have  wasted  half  a  century  in  profitless  and  ungenerous  work. 
What  evil  has  God  heaped  upon  you,  that  you  should  wage  war 
upon  His  institutions'?  What  injury  has  my  Prince  inflicted 
upon  you,  that  you  make  mock  of  the  goodness  and  fidelity  of 
His  people  1  What  wrong  have  Mankind  done  to  you,  that  you 
should  sneer  so  pitilessly  at  their  weaknesses  *?  Man — man  ! 
have  you  no  HIGHER  aim  than  to  play  the  scoffer  ?  What  enjoy 
ment  find  you  in  it — what  benefit — what  good  ?  Whom  does  ifc 
help,  relieve,  cheer,  or  strengthen  1  Compare  yourself,  sir,  for 
one  moment,  with  all  your  wealth,  experience,  and  worldly  know 
ledge,  with  the  humble  Christian  craftsman,  who,  for  love  of  his 
Redeemer,  fills  up  his  basket  every  Saturday  night,  and  wanders 
from  chamber  to  chamber  of  the  yet  poorer,  making  sad  hearts 
glad,  and  feeble  ones  strong.  Contrast  the  happiness  of  that  poor 
toiler  on  his  errand  of  mercy,  with  that  which  comes  to  yourself 
from  your  bitter  mockery,  and  say  which  is  the  truer  !" 

A  murmur  from  the  assemblage  told  the  hardware  dealer  that 
public  opinion  was  rather  setting  in  against  him.  That  worthy, 
however,  was  perfectly  undaunted.  Like  all  sarcastic  individuals, 
he  gathered  strength  from  defeat. 

"  You  are,  I  believe,  a  pious  man  ?"  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  I  profess  to  serve  my  Maker,"  said  Samuel. 

"  Ah !  you  only  profess  to  do  so  V1 

"  I  endeavor  to  do  so  in  fact,  as  well." 


382          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"Ah!  yes,"  returned  the  hardware  dealer,  ironically,  "they 
will  all  tell  you  that,  when  cornered ;  those  who  connect  them 
selves  with  the  Church  to  serve  their  pockets,  they  who  attach 
themselves  to  it  for  the  purpose  of  smuggling  themselves  into 
respectable  society,  and  all !" 

"  For  which  of  these  two  objects  did  you  join  the  Church,  sir  ?" 

"For  neither,"  answered  Mr.  Griscom.  "  I  connected  myself 
with  it  in  order  to  study  the  humbug  of  modern  religionists,  from 
the  knowing  little  children  upward  !" 

"  A  singular  motive,  I  will  not  say  a  praiseworthy  one !  How 
long  have  you  been  a  member  of  the  Church,  Mr.  Gris 
com  r 

"  Before  you  were  born,  sir!" 

"  And  in  all  that  time  you  have  been  analyzing  the  Church, 
studying  the  Church,  and  found  nothing  in  it,  but — " 

"  Cant  and  humbug  !"  broke  in  Mr.  Griscom,  with  a  sneering 
laugh,  which  he  designed  to  be  very  knowing,  very  bitter,  and 
very  crushing. 

Samuel  regarded  him,  for  a  few  moments,  with  astonishment. 

The  sarcastic  gentleman  smiled  with  an  air  which  seemed  to 
say,  "  Aha !  I've  demolished  you  at  last — have  I  f 

But  Samuel  did  not  appear  to  be  conscious  of  having  been  de 
molished  at  all. 

"  And  you  have  been  studying  the  Church  over  twenty-eight 
years,  Mr.  Griscom,"  he  said,  "  and  found  in  it  nothing  but  cant 
and  humbug !" 

"  Nothing  more,  Mr.  Leland,  I  assure  you !"  returned  the  sar 
castic  gentleman. 

"  And  you  say  that  to  me,  sir,  and  to  this  assemblage  of  in 
telligences  r 

"  To  you  and  to  them,  sir  !  I  arn  not  one  to  go  back  of  my 
word.  My  ancestors  fought  in  the  Revolution,  sir !"  said  the 
sarcastic  gentleman,  loftily. 


WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          383 

"  What  has  the  latter  fact  to  do  with  the  case  in  point  ?"  asked 
Samuel. 

"  That  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with !" 

"  Who  is  trifling  with  you,  sir  f 

The  sarcastic  gentleman  turned  pale.  He  discovered  that  he 
had  made  a  very  stupid  remark. 

"  I  stand  ready  to  maintain  my  position !"  he  said,  doggedly. 

"  Prove  it,  then,  sir,"  said  Samuel.  "  I  am  interested  in  its 
establishment,  if  it  can  be  established ;  and  in  its  refutation,  if 
it  cannot  be  established." 

The  hardware  dealer  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  At  length 
his  countenance  brightened,  under  the  magic  influence  of  a  fresh 
idea.  His  eyes  sparkled.  Already  his  lively  imagination  enabled 
him  to  behold  his  opponent  writhing  in  the  humiliation  of  an  over 
whelming  defeat. 

"  I  will  favor  you  with  a  few  evidences  of  the  weakness  of  your 
ground,"  he  said,  "  or  rather  with  a  few  pictures  of  certain  of 
your  friends,  who  were,  like  yourself,  clamorous  for  the  rights  of 
the  Church,  and  absolutely  majestic  in  their  piety  !" 

"  Bravo !"  whispered  Mr.  Brigham  to  Miss  Landon.  "  The 
gentleman  is  spreading  himself.  Now  for  something  tre 
mendous — " 

"  Like  himself!"  answered  Isabella,  "  or,"  she  added,  "  like 
you  /" 

The  confidential  clerk  bit  his  lip. 

"  I  am  "waiting,  sir,"  said  Samuel. 

"  And  you  will  not  have  to  wait  long,  my  friend,  depend  upon 
it,"  returned  the  hardware  dealer,  with  an  air  which  implied  that, 
now  that  he  had  taken  the  young  man  in  hand,  it  was  his  inten 
tion  to  make  short  work  with  him. 

The  assembly  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Now  we  are  going  to  have  fun !"  whispered  Mr.  Townsend 
to  his  wife. 


384  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  latter  nodded,  and  glanced  at  Mr.  Crittenden,  who  smiled, 
and  glanced  at  Miriam,  who  was  regarding  the  hardware  dealer 
with  an  expression  of  pain. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  few  pious  samples,"  said  the  sarcastic  gen 
tleman,  by  way  of  an  introductory  flourish.  "  There  was,  to  begin 
with,  your  old  and  dear  friend,  Mr.  Jones,  who  swindled  his 
creditors  out  of  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars,  deserted 
his  wife  and  child,  and  wound  up  by  running  off  with  another 
man's  wife,  the  mother  of  two  highly  interesting  children.  He 
was  a  very  pious  brother — one  of  your  trustees,  in  fact — carried 
around  the  plate,  and  was  remarkably  fond  of  prayer-meeting. 
Indeed,  the  fervidness  of  his  prayers  used  to  throw  those  of  his 
brethren  into  the  shade.  In  that  respect,  sir,  they  were  almost 
equal  to  your  own  !" 

Samuel  made  no  reply. 

The  hardware  dealer  wreathed  his  lips  into  a  patronizing  smile, 
and  continued: 

"  You  asked  me  for  the  proofs,  sir,  and  I  feel  bound  in  honor 
to  produce  them !" 

"  Go  on,  sir  !"  said  Samuel,  calmly. 

"  Then  there  was  your  other  dear  friend  and  pious  brother, 
Mr.  Rankin,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  in  a  tone  which  sent 
a  shudder  through  the  assembly.  "  He,  too,  was  a  bright  and 
shining  light.  He  used  to  make  the  softest,  mildest,  sweetest  of 
prayers,  and  walk  from  prayer-meeting  to  a — gambling-table. 
He  was  so  pious  that  he  paid  eight  hundred  dollars  a  year  for  his 
pew ;  not  to  be  talked  about — O  no,  but  simply  because  he  was 
so  good  !  At  church,  on  Sunday,  who  so  deyout  as  '  dear  brother 
Rankin  !'  During  the  sermon,  who  so  contemplative  !  '  Ah,' 
said  everybody,  '  brother  Rankin  is  piously  weighing  the  words 
of  the  preacher !'  All  a  mistake.  He  was  merdy  considering 
how  high  he  should  make  his  stakes  on  Monday  night !  When  the 
congregation  saw  a  tear  in  his  eye,  they  innocently  attributed  it 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  385 

to  the  touching  eloquence  of  the  discourse ;  but  it  proved,  after 
all,  to  be  simply  a  tear  to  his  losses  at  faro  on  the  evening  before ! 
He  carried  around  the  plate,  too,  and  was  so  unctuously  pious 
that  everybody  said  of  him,  ' He  is  a  saint!'  Well,  it  was  sub 
sequently  discovered  that  this  saint  was,  in  plain  language,  a 
miserable  thief,  a  private  blackleg,  and  a  fast  liver — on  other 
men's  money.  In  the  polite  phraseology  of  our  times,  he  was  a 
'  defaulter'  to  the  tune  of  seventy-five  or  eighty  thousand  dollars. 
To  conclude  the  catalogue  of  this  pious  worthy's  crimes,  he  com 
mitted  suicide — piously  leaving  his  wife  and  children  to  the 
parental  care  of  the — alms-house !" 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  Samuel. 

"Certainment  /"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  with  mock-gra- 
ciousness ;  "  but  I  warn  you  that  it  will  take  me  till  morning  to 
get  through." 

"No  matter,"  returned  Samuel,  calmly.     "Go  on,  sir." 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  have  it  so,  Mr.  Leland,  you  shall  be  accommo 
dated  to  your  heart's  content.  Then  there  is  Mr.  Wilson,  of  the 
dry  goods  firm  of  Gates  &  Wilson.  He  was  always  so  good,  and 
so  glad  to  see  you.  Why,  sir,  one  would  suppose  that  that  man 
was  the  blood-born  brother  of  all  mankind,  he  was  always  so 
delighted  to  see  everybody.  How  he  would  weep  over  the 
preacher's  eloquent  pictures  of  Christ's  sufferings,  or  a  sermon 
on  the  poor !  In  fact,  he  was  always  in  tears.  How  he  would 
press  a  sister's  hand,  and  talk  to  her  of  the  delights  of  heaven ; 
and  how  fond  he  was  of  inviting  himself  to  their  houses  to 
pray  for  and  with  them !  And  with  what  pleasure  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  every  new  member  of  the  church  ;  how  particu 
larly  he  inquired  after  their  own  and  their  family's  healths,  from 
the  antique  grandmother  down  to  the  last  little  contribution  ;  how 
affectionately  he  invited  everybody  to  call  and  spend  the  evening 
with  his  family,  always  taking  care  to  let  you  know  that  he  him- 
ielf  was  never  at  home ;  and  how  cordially  he  invited  himself 
17 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

to  everybody  else's  house,  and,  when  there,  tenderly  inquiring 
how  much  you  paid  for  every  article  in  it,  whether  you  got  it  at 
a  '  bargain,'  a  polite  way  of  learning  whether  you  paid  cash  for  it, 
or  got  it  on  tick ;  what  your  rent  stood  you  in,  and  whether  the 
landlord  was  inhuman  enough  to  demand  security,  and  if  so,  who 
was  the  kind  friend  that  stood  by  you  in  that  trying  moment — 
where  you  came  from,  how  many  there  were  in  the  family, 
together  with  the  amount  of  property  which  had  already  been,  or 
was  to  be,  divided  amongst  you — all  of  which  information  he 
carefully  recorded,  if  not  in  a  book,  at  least  in  his  memory,  for 
future  reference  !  And  then,  as  the  breath  of  misfortune  came  in 
your  path,  how  ready  he  was  in — turning  his  back  upon  you,  and  in 
wondering  what  you  meant  by  bowing  to,  or  calling  upon  him — 
him,  a  perfect  stranger  to  you!  Well,  Mr.  Leland,  this  dear 
friend  and  pious  brother  of  yours — or  rather  his  firm,  which  is 
the  same  thing — failed  yesterday,  doing  his  dear  creditors,  as 
one  of  them  informed  me  to-day,  out  of  a  cool  two  hundred 
thousand !" 

His  auditors  stared  at  one  another.  The  party  spoken  of  was 
known  to  nearly  all  present,  and  the  news  of  his  failure  took 
them  by  surprise. 

Mr.  Oittenden  glanced  at  his  partner — the  latter  returned  the 
look  with  a  sly  sparkle  of  business  joy.  The  bankrupt  house 
was  one  rival  the  less  to  the  great  house  of  John  P.  Townsend ! 

"  That  firm  has,  for  a  year  past,  been  offering  me  very  tempt 
ing  inducements  to  change  houses,"  mused  the  confidential  clerk. 
"  And  they  have  caved  in  at  last,  for  all  their  craft  and  honey  ! 
Well,  I've  been  expecting  it  for  some  time  !" 

"  Have  you  done,  sir  ?"  asked  Samuel. 

"  That  is  as  you  please,  sir,"  answered  the  sarcastic  gentleman. 
"  If  you  wish  for  any  more,  be  kind  enough  to  signify  it.  I  am 
not  exhausted,  I  assure  you  !" 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  Samuel. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          387 

"  There  is  another  of  your  dear  friends,  Mr.  De  Witt.  The 
sleek,  fat,  pious  Mr.  De  Witt,  who  always  found  so  much  com 
fort  in  prayer,  and  yet  who  never  looked  upon  an  acquaintance 
without  considering  how  much  he  could  make  out  of  him.  The 
wise,  knowing,  crafty  Mr.  De  Witt,  who,  as  everybody  thought* 
had  grown  rich  upon  his  judicious  mixture  of  rascality  and  re 
ligion.  He,  too,  used  to  make  long  prayers  ;  he,  too,  was  so 
charmed  to  cultivate  loving  friendships  with  his  dear  brethren ; 
and  he,  too — the  oily,  well-fed  rogue ! — carried  around  the  plate, 
into  which,  as  everybody  knew,  he  never  himself  dropped  a  six 
pence  !  Well,  sir,  this  dear,  delightful,  pious  rascal  hung  himself 
this  morning,  owing  a  credulous  and  *  done '  world  between  three 
and  four  hundred  thousand  dollars !" 

All  started  at  this  announcement. 

"  Is  that  true  ?"  asked  Mr.  Townsend. 

"I  learned  it  from  one  of  his  brothers-in-law,  on  my  way 
hither,"  replied  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  who  appeared  to  be  per 
fectly  delighted  at  the  sensation  which  had  been  created  by  his 
last  gun. 

"  Did  Mr.  De  Witt  owe  you  anything1?"  asked  Mrs.  Townsend, 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Not  a  dollar,"  answered  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Townsend  breathed  easier,  and  then  glanced  at  Miriam. 
Both  were  thinking  of  Mrs.  De  Witt's  treatment  of  her  sister — 
the  helpless  Mrs.  Jones. 

"Poor  creature!"  murmured  Miriam,  sympathizingly.  "  How 
hard  she  will  find  poverty — she  who  could  not  endure  prosperity  ! 
I  must  do  something  for  her  !"  And  she  began  to  think  how  she 
could  serve  the  widow,  without  wounding  the  latter's  pride. 

Mrs.  Townsend's  idea  was  as  follows : 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  that  odious  creature  will  at  length  taste  of 
a  little  of  the  bitterness  which  she  administered  so  freely  to  her 
sister !" 


388          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Isabella  was  quietly  thinking  of  the  sensation  which  the  affair 
would  create  the  next  day,  when  it  should  be  reported,  with  all 
the  interesting  details,  in  the  newspapers. 

Mr.  Townsend  was  silently  congratulating  himself  upon  his 
good  fortune  in  not  "  doing  "  a  note  of  the  defunct's  which  had 
been  tendered  him  some  two  or  three  days  before. 

Mr.  Crittenden  was  considering  how  utterly  unfit  society  and 
society's  church  had  rendered  Mrs.  De  Witt  to  grapple  with 
poverty. 

Samuel  was  pondering,  with  a  shudder,  upon  the  chances  of  the 
soul  which  had  precipitated  itself,  reckless  and  unrepentant,  into 
the  presence  of  its  Judge. 

The  sarcastic  gentleman  was  felicitating  himself  upon  the  stir 
wrhich  he  had  produced  and  the  triumph  which  he  had  achieved 
over  his  opponent. 

The  little  publisher  was  wondering  how  a  series  of  volumes 
upon  the  "  Lives  of  Illustrious  Suicides"  would  go,  in  the  style 
of  the  successful  "  Illustrious  Highwaymen"  and  "  Illustrious 
Pugilists." 

"  This  is  a  very  shocking  affair !"  said  the  brewer,  gloomily. 
"I  don't  like  it!" 

"  I  hope  it  don't  touch  you,  sir  ?"  said  the  hardware  dealer. 

"  But  it  does  touch  me,  Mr.  Griscom,  and  very  seriously,  too, 
sir.  What  right  had  that  rascal  to  hang  himself  before  seeing 
me  ?  The  scoundrel — the  base,  ungrateful  scoundrel !" 

"  Hold,  sir !"  interrupted  Samuel.  "  You  forget :  you  are 
speaking  of  the  dead  !" 

"Dead  or  alive,  sir,"  cried  the  brewer,  foaming  with  rage, 
"  the  rascal  owes  me  ten  thousand  dollars,  borrowed  money.  He 
had  it  from  me  last  week,  stating  that  he  only  wanted  it  for  thirty 
days  ;  and  now — why,  it  is  perfectly  frightful !" 

"Take  it  cool,  take  it  cool,"  laughed  the  witty  editor.     "The 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          389 

public  will  drink  back  your  loss  in  Ruffin's  Ale,  before  the  thirty 
days  shall  be  up  !" 

"  And  besides,"  said  Mr.  Sly,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  de 
sired  to  make  an  impression,  "there  is  a  large  profit  in  ale." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  brewer. 

"  I  figured  it  out,  once,"  returned  Mr.  Sly  ;  "  and  finding  the 
profits  so  heavy,  I  was  within  an  ace  of  going  into  it." 

"  And  what,  sir,  may  I  ask,"  inquired  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  in 
fluenced  you  from  taking  up  so  praiseworthy  a  business  ?" 

"  The  still  greater  profits  in  book  publishing !"  chuckled  Mr. 
Sly. 

"  I  have  always  heard  that  book  publishing  was  a  poor  busi 
ness,"  remarked  Mr.  Crittenden.  , 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir — that  is  to  say,  for  a  certain  class  of 
books !"  said  Mr.  Sly. 

"  Your  own,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sly,  with  becoming  modesty.  "  We  un 
derstand  how  to  make  publishing  pay? 

"Anything  for  money — eh,  Mr.  Sly  T'  said  Mr.  Crittenden, 
dryly. 

"  Men  must  live,  you  know  !"  faltered  that  worthy,  looking  ex 
ceedingly  foolish. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  doing,  Mr.  Chipp  ?"  asked  Mr.  Towns-' 
end  of  the  witty  editor,  who  was  pencilling  rapidly  on  his  tablets. 

"  Sketching  for  my  next  number  the  portrait  of  the  first  in 
stance  on  record  of  a  blushing  publisher !"  answered  the  witty 
editor. 

"  Add  under  it,"  said  the  cotton-broker,  who  fancied  he  was 
letting  off  a  clever  thing,  "  that  he  is  a  sly  fellow — very  sly  ; 
but  that  he  never  could  see  when  he  was  a  butt !" 

"  Sir  !"  growled  the  little  publisher,  looking  exceedingly  fierce. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Sly,"  asked  the  cotton-broker,  with  a  supercilious 
stare,  "  what  is  it  ?" 


390          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  No  matter !"  said  Mr.  Sly,  in  an  humbler  tone.  "  I  presume 
you  were  only  joking." 

"  O,  you  presume  that  ?  Indeed  !  Happy  man  !"  returned 
the  cotton-broker,  derisively. 

The  little  publisher  crimsoned  to  his  temples,  and  wished  him 
self  a  thousand  miles  away. 

"  After  all,"  whispered  Mr.  Crittenden  to  Samuel,  "  society 
appreciates  rascals  at  their  just  value,  and  compels  them,  now 
and  then,  to  submit  to  the  most  abject  humiliations." 

Samuel  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
hardware  dealer,  who  was  in  nowise  inclined  to  leave  the  result 
of  his  fancied  triumph  over  the  young  man  in  doubt. 

"  I  apprehend,  Mr.  Leland,  that  you  have  had  quite  enough  of 
the  contest  which  you  were  so  eager  to  enter  T'  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  turned  all  eyes  upon  the  latter. 

"  Save  a  vast  flow  of  bitter,  rambling  sarcasms,  and  three  or 
four  dreadful  pictures,"  returned  Samuel,  "  I  have  heard  nothing 
from  you  tending  to  establish  your  position." 

"  Dear  me !"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  ironically. 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  cotton-broker,  "  you  can 
favor  us  with  something  in  support  of  your  own  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  a  child  could  do  that !"  returned  Samuel.  "  Ke- 
ligion — modern  religion,  if  you  will  have  it  so — stands,  happily, 
in  need  of  no  argument  to  sustain  it.  It  is  its  own  great  advo 
cate  ;  and  the  evidence  of  its  truthfulness  and  power  lies  in  the 
visible  happiness  of  its  people,  and  in  the  joy  which  it  confers 
upon  all  who  embrace  it.  I  shall  therefore  trespass  neither  upon 
your  intelligence  nor  your  patience  by  a  waste  of  unnecessary 
words.  But,  with  your  permission,  I  will  draw  a  portrait  of  an 
every-day  exemplar  of  the  fruits  of  the  want  of  religion  in  a  single 
individual." 

"  Hear — hear  !"  creid  the  hardware  dealer.  "  All  those  who 
have  never  been  pious— hear ;  all  those  who  are  not  pious — hear ; 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.         391 

and  all  those,  of  whom  I  am  one,  who  never  expect  to  become 
pious — hear !" 

Samuel  surveyed  him,  for  a  few  moments,  with  an  air  of  pain 
ful  surprise. 

"  One  of  these  days,  Mr.  Griscom,"  he  then  said,  "  you  will 
learn  that  every  sneer  and  sarcasm  which  you  utter,  outrage  your 
own  dignity  ;  that  they  are  ungenerous  and  unworthy ;  and  that 
they  are  the  issue  only  of  bitter  and  self-blinding  minds." 

"  Well,"  returned  the  incorrigible  hardware  dealer,  "  I  am  will 
ing  to  wait  until  .that  happy  period  shall  arrive.  In  the  meantime 
we'll  take  your  portrait  of  a  gentleman  without  religion." 

"  Listen,  then,  sir.  John  Smith  was  an  inventor,  a  husband, 
father,  friend,  citizen,  and  Christian.  John  Smith,  the  inventor, 
was  a  great  man ;  in  science  he  took  a  stand  among  the  highest. 
All  of  his  energies,  mental  and  physical,  were  given  to  new  ma 
chines.  It  was  his  one  idea ;  he  lived  for  nothing  else.  Had 
any  one  asked  him  to  define  the  one  object  of  life,  he  would  have 
answered,  New  Machines.  And  he  was  faithful  to  his  idea.  But 
John  Smith  the  husband  was  another  man;  his  wife  had  for  her  sole 
counsellor  and  companion,  her  own  thoughts ;  whatever  she  did, 
however  well  done,  was  never  noticed  or  appreciated  by  her 
husband,  because  he  had  no  mind  for  aught  but  new  machines ; 
and  so  the  poor  woman  pined  and  labored,  and  pined  and  •  strug 
gled,  and  pined  and — died.  That  was  the  end  of  the  first  chapter 
in  New  Machines.  John  Smith  the  father  was  a  miserable  crea 
ture.  Excepting  in  the  fact  that  he  was  the  sire  of  three  fine 
boys,  he  had  no  right  to  that  paternal  name.  He  had  plenty  of 
mind  for  his  new  machines,  but  no  mind  at  all  for  his  sons, 
whom  he  left  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Poor  lads !  You 
know  how  children  will  wander,  when  left  without  a  guide.  One 
strayed  among  thieves,  and  became  of  their  number ;  a  second 
fell  among  gamblers,  and  became  of  their  kind ;  the  third 
associated  with  rowdies,  became  of  their  number,  and  was 


392          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

killed  in  a  prize-fight.  Thus  ended  the  second  chapter  in  New 
Machines.  John  Smith  the  friend  was  a  misnomer;  he  was 
a  friend  to  no  one,  not  even  to  his  wife,  nor  yet  to  the  issue 
of  his  own  loins;  who  assisted  him  with  timely  influence  or 
capital,  he  never  so  much  as  thanked ;  friend  after  friend 
turned  from  him  in  indignation  and  disgust.  By-and-bye, 
he  had  not  a  kindly  wisher  in  the  world.  Thus  ended  the 
third  chapter  in  New  Machines.  John  Smith  the  citizen  was 
a  nonentity.  He  took  no  interest  in  public  affairs.  The 
country  might  have  gone  to  pieces  without  his  knowing  it.  He 
leftf  the  State  to  take  care  of  itself.  If  a  great  moral  movement 
came  up,  which,  if  carried,  would  relieve  the  people  of  a  serious 
evil,  and  which,  if  lost,  would  work  them  vast  ruin,  John  Smith 
knew  nothing  of  it,  cared  nothing  for  it ;  or  if  a  new  measure  was 
proposed  by  the  agents  of  sin,  which  would  endanger  our  liber 
ties,  and  throw  the  country  back  twenty  or  fifty  years,  John 
Smith  gave  it  no  attention.  At  length  a  great  reform  measure 
was  brought  up ;  its  passage  would  have  saved  thousands  of  men 
from  drunkenness,  idleness,  and  poverty,  thousands  of  wives 
from  penury  and  affliction,  thousands  of  children  from  hunger 
and  neglect,  thousands  of  citizens  from  oppressive  taxation,  and 
the  State  from  a  burning  shame ;  its  defeat  would  have  retained 
all  this  evil.  John  Smith  knew  nothing  about  it,  John  Smith 
cared  nothing  about  it,  and  the  measure  failed  for  want  of  a 
single  vote.  This  was  the  close  of  the  fourth  chapter.  John 
Smith  the  Christian  was  a  pitiful  spectacle.  He  went  to  church 
from  habit.  While  there,  being  naturally  of  a  studious  turn,  he 
looked  around  to  observe  the  peculiarities  of  the  congregation 
in  dress,  physiognomy,  and  mariner,  and  amused  himself  by 
ridiculing  their  weaknesses.  When  service  was  begun,  he 
diverted  himself  by  criticising  the  hymns,  the  choir,  the  literary 
merits  of  the  prayer,  the  Bible  chapter,  and  the  sermon;  the 
style  of  the  preacher,  his  individualism  in  mind,  form,  feature, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  393 

voice,  dress,  gesture ;  and  in  comparing,  balancing,  and  measur 
ing  the  relative  nervous  forces  of  his  intellect  and  body.  To  the 
Message  itself,  he  gave  no  attention.  When  he  had  finished  his 
amusement,  his  mind  returned  to  his  one  love — new  machines, 
and  continued  upon  that,  to  him,  all-important  subject,  to  the 
close  of  the  service.  Thus  he  spent  his  Sabbaths,  thus  he  spent 
his  life.  At  length  he  was  summoned  by  the  Last  Messenger,  to 
the  presence  of  The  Great  JUDGE,  to  give  an  account  for  his 
neglect  of  his  wife,  for  his  abandonment  of  the  children  whom 
his  Maker  had  committed  to  his  care,  for  his  ingratitude  to  his 
friends,  for  the  ruin  which  had  followed  to  thousands  by  his 
unfaithfulness  in  an  important  public  measure,  and  for  his  sacri 
legious  amusement  in  the  Temple  of  the  Most  High.  Thus 
ended  his  last  chapter.  When  he  died,  the  unthinking  said  of 
him,  '  What  a  great  man  the  world  has  lost !'  Ah !  how  much 
nearer  to  the  truth  would  have  been  the  remark  :  '  What  a 
Great  World  hath  this  poor  sinner  lost!'  If  John  Smith  had 
only  tempered  his  great  mind  with  Religion — this  institution 
which  you  so  sneeringly  deride — then  how  different  had  been 
the  results  of  his  career!  Mr.  Griscom,"  added  the  young 
Christian,  impressively,  "John  Smith  was  one  of  many.  He 
bent  every  attribute  of  his  nature  to  a  single  idea.  On  that  one 
altar,  he  sacrificed  his  wife,  his  children,  his  friends,  his  fealty  to 
humanity,  yea,  even  himself.  Mr.  Griscom,  your  new  machine 
is  Sarcasm — sarcasm  against  your  fellow-creatures,  who,  believe 
me,  stand  more  in  need  of  your  love  than  your  scorn — sarcasm 
against  the  highest  of  all  human  institutions  :  The  Institution  of 
God !  Oh,  sir — this  is  not  well,  not  generous,  not  noble !" 

"  You  appear  to  be  perfectly  rabid  upon  the  sarcasm  ques 
tion  !"  laughed  the  hardware  dealer.  "  Most  men  are ;  but  it 
generally  arises  from  their  inability  to  play  even  in  the  same 
line!" 

Samuel  made  no  reply. 
17* 


394  WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  One  would  think,  to  hear  Mr.  Leland,"  observed  the  idler, 
"  that  a  fellow  should  never  amuse  himself." 

"  There  are  two  kinds  of  amusement,  sir,"  returned  Samuel, 
"  as  there  are  two  kinds  of  everything  :  the  harmless  and  the 
harmful.  I  have  no  objection  to  the  first,  but  every  objection  in 
the  world  .to  the  second." 

"You  have  such  a  funny  way  of  answering  a  fellow  !"  observed 
the  lounger.  "  Knocking  religion  into  him  with  every  word !" 

"A  little  religion,  my  friend,  would  do  you  no  harm !"  said 
Charley  Gibbs,  coming  up  to  Samuel's  assistance.  "  I  knew  an 
individual  like  you,  once,  who  was  made  quite  a  man  by  it." 

"  Ah  !  In  what  way  T  asked  the  lounger,  looking  out  from  the 
bevy  of  blondes  and  brunettes  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 

"  It  rendered  him  useful  both  to  himself  and  to  society  !"  re 
plied  Charley. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  lounger,  favoring  him  with  a  pro 
longed  stare,  "  you  are — " 

"  Didn't  some  one  hear  a  bell  ?"  interrupted  Mr.  Townsend, 
for  the  purpose  of  arresting  the  personality. 

"  No,  sir,"  rejoined  the  witty  editor,  comprehending  his  host's 
idea,  "  it  more  resembled  the  noise  of  a  beau  in  the  midst  of  the 
belles  !" 

This  hit  was  so  palpable,  that  even  the  lounger  himself  con 
descended  to  join  in  the  laugh  which  it  evoked. 

"  Do  you  carry  your  Christianity  so  far,"  asked  the  retired 
banker,  addressing  Samuel,  "  as  to  expect  a  respectable  congrega 
tion  to  mingle  indiscriminately  with  the  rag,  tag,  and  bobtail  of 
the  lower  classes  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir :  although  I  should  not  designate  the  poor  by  that 
appellation." 

"A  shocking  doctrine !"  observed  the  lounger.     "  Positively 
frightful !     It  wouldn't  take  in  our  church  !" 
"  Nor  in  ours  !"  remarked  the  hardware  dealer. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT, •  OR  THE  LEFT.          395 

"Nor  in  ours  !"  said  the  brewer,  with  a  grimace. 

"  Nor  yet  in  ours  !"  said  the  banker.  "  We  are  very  particu 
lar  !" 

"As  for  ours,"  said  the  little  publisher,  deeming  this  a  good 
opportunity  to  reinstate  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  the  as 
sembly,  "  the  sexton  has  his  orders ;  and  would  lose  his  situ 
ation  if  he  should  permit  the  riff-raff  in.  It's  the  only  way. 
We  have  to  be  careful  who  we  admit ;  or  we  should  never 
be  able  to  keep  up  our  respectability." 

"  Our  respectability !"  repeated  the  cotton-broker,  mimick 
ing  him.  "  Neighbor,"  he  added,  with  a  cutting  sneer,  "  when 
your  business  fails  to  give  you  a  living,  bear  in  mind  that  I 
shall  be  in  want  of  a  footman  /" 

"  You  are  too  hard  upon  poor  Mr.  Sly  !"  observed  the  banker. 

*'  Not  half  so  hard  as  you  were  upon  the  dupes  of  your 
fraudulent  banks '."replied  the  little  wasp,  quickly. 

The  banker  was  dumb. 

"  How  harmonious  are  the  ranks  of  the  soldiers  of  Satan  !" 
whispered  Mr.  Crittenden  to  Samuel. 

"  Their  thoughts  are  evil,  and  their  evil  follows  them ! "  re 
turned  the  young  Christian. 

"  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  who  fancied  that  he 
had  at  length  found  a  way  to  throw  his  late  opponent  into 
a  knot  from  which  he  could  not  easily  extricate  himself,  "  I 
should  like  to  hear  your  reasons  for  opposing  public  opinion 
upon  church  exclusiveness.  As  for  myself,  I  hold  to  the  be 
lief  that  respectable  people  should  not  associate  with  nobodies 
in  the  church  any  more  than  in  society." 

"  My  opinion  also,"  said  the  lounger. 

"  And  mine,"  observed  the  brewer. 

"  And  mine !"  ventured  the  little  publisher,  in  hope,  by  fol 
lowing  so  popular  a  sentiment,  to  recover  his  former  position. 
"  Now,  look  out,"  observed  Mr.  Townsend,  in  an  under  tone, 


396  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

to  his  wife.  "  Samuel  will  not  leave  these  rascals  an  inch  of 
ground  to  stand  upon." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  tauntingly, 
"  face  the  music,  like  a  man  !" 

The  assemblage  regarded  the  young  Christian  with  interest. 

"  I  have  ever  entertained  the  opinion,"  said  Samuel,  "  that,  of  all 
places  in  the  world,  God's  house  is  the  very  place  where  rich  and 
poor  should  meet  as  on  a  common  ground.  Once  within  its 
sacred  walls,  we  are  no  longer  in  the  world — no  longer  in  the 
midst  of  hollow  pomps  and  little  pride,  of  worrying  poverty 
and  sickening  guile — but  in  the  solemn  temple  of  The  Most  High. 
When  the  rich  man  has 'crossed  its  threshold,  he  has  left  his 
wealth  behind  him ;  the  poor  man  his  struggles,  his  misery,  and 
his  cares.  For  both  are  then  where  wealth  and  poverty  are  as 
naught,  where  rich  and  poor  stand  upon  the  same  level :  IN 
DIVINE  PRESENCE  !  Before  them  stands  the  sacred  desk ;  be 
hind  it,  the  envoy  of  The  Eedeemer.  The  solemn  silence  awes 
them  and  subdues  them ;  the  solemn  prayer  stirs  them,  and  re 
minds  them  that  they  are  there,  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  one, 
and  for  all  the  poverty  of  the  other,  mere  journey  ers  to  the 
Better  Land.  The  song  of  praise,  so  arousing,  so  inspiring,  they 
join  in,  and  find  comfort  in  their  hearts,  pleasure  in  their  souls. 
Again  the  solemn  silence  awes  them  and  subdues  them ;  and  then 
the  voice  of  The  Message,  spoken  by  The  Lord's  chosen  servant, 
falls — solemnly,  warn  in  gly,  cheeringly — on  their  ears,  as  never  yet 
fell  human  voice,  as  never  yet  fell  human  word.  At  sound  of  that 
voice,  the  evil  spirit  within  them  stills  its  sinful  whispers ;  the 
angel  spirit  within  them  holds  its  breath  in  awe  and  reverence : 
for  One  greater  than  them  all — One  whom  all  must  hear — is 
speaking:  GOD!  Ah!  where  is  society,  THEN?  Where  wealth, 
with  its  glitter,  its  pomps,  and  its  pride  ?  Where  poverty,  with 
its  rags,  its  stings,  and  its  suifering  ?  Where  all  are  swallowed 
up  and  forgot — where  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  proud  and  the 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         397 

humble,  are  all  alike  inferior — in  the  presence  of  The  Only  Su 
perior  !  Ah !  who  shall  say  which  one  of  all  that  throng,  whether 
he  be  rich  or  poor,  has  the  best  claim  there?  Who  shall  say  to 
his  neighbor:  'This  is  not  the  place  for  one  like  thee!'  Who 
shall  say  to  one  beside  him,  before  him,  or  behind  him  :  '  This  is 
my  God's  house  ;  go  thou  to  tJiy  God's  house  :  for  my  God's 
house  is  not  thy  God's  house,  nor  is  thy  God's  house  for  me !' 
Ah  !  no  thought  there,  then,  of  that !  For  THAT  Voice  is  speak 
ing,  to  which  cherubim  and  seraphim  hearken  as  to  their  Highest 
Lord's,  and  it  says :  '  This  is  MY  house — enter  freely !'  Ah  ! 
who  shall  gainsay  The  Omnipotent  then  and.  THERE  !  But  The 
Voice  ceases — The  Message  is  spoken — and  hosannas  ascend 
from  the  contrite  and  humble  throng.  This  over,  all  depart,  with 
The  Blessing  in  their  ears,  and  incense  burning  in  their  hearts  to 
The  One  Superior.  Ah !  happy,  in  that  hour,  the  rich  man  who 
forgets  his  riches  ;  and  happy  the  poor  man,  if  he  think  not  of 
his  poverty !" 

As  the  young  Christian  concluded,  his  auditors  expressed  their 
opinion  of  his  stand  in  the  discussion  by  a  general  clapping  of 
hands. 

The  hardware  dealer  bit  his  lip.  He  had  laid  a  trap  for  his 
opponent,  and  had  only  succeeded  in  catching — himself. 

"  Mr.  Griscom,"  asked  Isabella,  at  the  suggestion  of  her  uncle, 
who  desired  to  keep  up  the  excitement,  "  what  is  your  opinion  of 
the  pulpit  ?" 

'      "  If  that  fellow  displays  any  more  of  his  venom,"  whispered 
Mr.  Crittenden,  to  his  young  friend,  "  you  must  finish  him." 

Samuel  nodded,  and  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  hardware  dealer, 
who  now  fancied  that  he  had  got  hold  of  a  topic  which  would 
enable  him  to  retrieve  his  fallen  fortunes,  and  amaze  the  assem 
blage  with  his  vast  mental  powers. 

"  The  pulpit,"  said  Mr.  Griscom,  ironically,  "  is  a  very  good 
thing — in  its  way.  It  is  a  capital  companion  for  society.  They 
play  into  each  other's  hands  very  accommodatingly,  on  the  plan 


398          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

of  the  two  snow-ball  factions — '  you  let  us  alone,  and  we'll  let 
you  alone.'  You  know  the  story,  of  course — everybody  does. 
Men  take  to  the  pulpit  with  the  same  motive  that  other  men  take 
to  the  law,  to  medicine,  or  to  dry  goods — for  a  business  !" 

"  What !"  asked  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  simply  to  make  money  ?" 

"  To  make  money — nothing  more,"  said  Mr.  Griscom,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  knew  all  about  the  matter,  and  could  say  some 
very  cutting  things  concerning  it,  if  he  chose. 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  a  very  harsh,  wholesale,  and  un 
generous  statement  V  asked  Samuel,  indignantly. 

"  When  a  man.  takes  comprehensive  views,"  returned  the  sar 
castic  gentleman,  "  he  is  somewhat  apt  to  get  beyond  the  sym 
pathy  of  circumscribed  minds !" 

"  But  it  appears  to  me,  sir,"  said  Samuel,  "  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  taking  views  which  are  so  very  comprehensive  that  they 
never  penetrate  beneath  the  surface.  I  do  not  wish  to  insinuate 
that  your  views  are  of  this  nature ;  but  I  am  tempted  to  believe 
that,  when  you  hurl  so  unjust  a  reproach  at  the  highest  and 
noblest  profession  in  the  world,  you  really  do  not  know  how 
wrongfully  you  misjudge  it." 

"  '  Noblest?'  "  repeated  Mr.  Griscom,  with  a  supercilious  smile. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Perhaps  you  can  name  a  nobler  ?  I  appeal  to  your 
candor  as  a  man :  What  calling  so  high  as  that  of  the  envoys  of 
The  Prince  of  Peace ;  what  profession  so  noble  as  that  which 
seeks  to  save  men — to  lead  them,  like  little  children,  to  the  feet 
of  their  Redeemer  ?" 

"  One  would  suppose,  to  hear  you  talk,"  sneered  the  hardware 
dealer,  "  that  you  were  born  in  some  rural  town  where  the  in 
habitants  do  nothing  but  cultivate  greens !" 

"  Bravo !"  exclaimed  the  witty  editor,  clapping  his  hands.  "  '  A 
hit;  a  hit :  a  palpable  hit !'  " 

"  A  great  deal  like  your  own,  Mr.  Chipp,,"  said  Isabella ; 
"  and  about  as  original !" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          399 

"  Another  hit,  and  far  more  palpable !"  cried  Mr.  Brighara. 
"  The  Jolly  Sneerer  is  declining  in  circulation !" 

"  Is  it  1"  retorted  the  witty  editor.  "  Fortunately,  I  have  got 
an  idea  which  will  make  it  rally,  commencing  with  the  next 
number." 

"  Ah,  indeed !"  sneered  Mr.  Brigham.  "  Some  fresh  revamp 
from  the  venerable  Joe  Miller  !" 

"  No,  sir,"  cried  the  witty  editor,  trembling  with  rage ;  "  the 
picture  of  a  dry  goods  orang-outang,  whose  teeth  form  the 
principal  part  of  his  head !" 

"Are  there  any  painters  here1?"  broke  in  Mr.  Townsend.  "  I 
want  a  sign  dashed  off  right  away,  with,  in  large  letters,  '  Mang 
ling  done  here !'  " 

This  sally  restored  good-humor,  and  Mr.  Townsend  added — 
"  Come,  Mr.  Griscom,  to  the  point.     You  say  that  clergymen 
preach  for  money  only,  a  position  which  Mr.  Leland  denies.  Now 
favor  us  with  the  evidence." 

"  1  fear,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  that  our  worthy  friend  will  find 
himself  a  little  behind  time !" 

"  We'll  see  that,"  said  Mr.  Griscom.  "  I  have  a  supreme  con 
tempt  for  the  pulpit,  because  preacher  and  people  are  no  better 
than  they  should  be.  They  play  into  each  other's  hands — " 

"  You  have  already  informed  us  upon  that  point,  sir !"  inter 
rupted  Isabella. 

"  I  will  now  proceed  to  prove  it !"  said  the  satirical  gentleman, 
in  his  dry  way. 

"  Very  kind  in  you,  sir,  indeed  !"  said  Isabella. 
"  There  are  churches,"  said  Mr.  Griscom,  not  heeding  her  re 
mark,  "where  the  members,  who  call  themselves  patrons  of  the 
sanctuary,  go,  not  to  worship  God,  but,  as  to  a  play  :  to  be  seen, 
and — amused.  This  class — these  patrons  of  the  Lord  !  want  in 
their  preacher,  not  piety,  but — ELOQUENCE.  That  edifies  them, 
wakes  up  their  dormant  faculties,  refreshes  them.  For  this  in- 


400          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

tellectual  refreshment  they  will  pay — liberally  ;  while  for  piety 
they  will  give — nothing.  These  snobs  want  for  their  pastor  one 
who  will  preserve  them  from  mental  imbecility,  refresh  them 
with  ornate  thoughts,  and  never  disturb  the  tranquil  calm  of  their 
self-complacency — that  is  to  say,  an  eloquent  preacher,  and — 
nothing  more.  They  do  not  tell  him  this  ;  but  they  leave  him 
to  infer  it,  and  to  comport  himself  accordingly.  If  he  fail  to  meet 
their  wishes,  they  discard  him ;  if  he  accommodate  himself  to 
their  desire,  they  pay  him  a  princely  salary,  and — despise  him ! 
Now,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  with  a  flourish,  "  I  mean  to 
say,  with  all  due  deference  to  the  young  gentleman  from  the 
rural  district,  that  churches  of  this  description  experience  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  pastors  !  Very  '  noble'  men,  no  doubt ;  but 
still  very  willing  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  wants  of  those  who 
employ  them !" 

The  satirical  gentleman  paused,  with  an  air  which  implied  that 
he  was  very  well  satisfied  with  himself,  and  that  he  was  conscious 
that  he  had  maintained  his  position  like  a  veteran,  thus  far. 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  this  rascal's  remarks,  after  all — eh  ?" 
observed  Mr.  Crittenden  to  his  young  friend. 

Samuel  made  no  reply. 

"  There  are  other  congregations,"  continued  Mr.  Griscom,  run 
ning  his  Angers  through  his  hair,  like  one  to  whom  triumphs  of 
this  sort  were  of  daily  occurrence,  "  or  rather,  other  patrons, 
who,  in  patronizing  the  church,  patronize — themselves.  What 
they  want  in  their  pastors,  is  not  piety,  but — LEARNING.  And  so 
they  look  around  for  preachers  who  are  capable  of  amazing  them 
once  a  week  with  their  rich  treasuries  of  lore — preachers  who  will 
not  disturb  themselves  with  the  consciences,  but  with  the  brains 
of  their  hearers — who  will  make  it  a  point,  every  seventh  day, 
to  furbish  up  and  put  new  life  into  their  stupid,  ignorant,  and 
decaying  noddles.  Now,  I  respectfully  submit,  that  churches  of 


WHICH  :  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          401 

this  sort  find  it.  very  easy  to  obtain  pastors  who  are  willing — • 
very  willing — to  humor  them  in  these  particulars  !" 

The  satirical  gentleman  paused  again,  and  while  playing  with  his 
hair,  looked  down  with  modest  triumph,  like  one  who  was  per 
fectly  aware  that  he  had  delivered  himself  of  something  very  fine, 
and  was  quite  certain  of  a  great  many  rounds  of  enthusiastic 
applause. 

"  Have  you  got  through,  Mr.  Griscom  T  asked  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  O,  no,  sir — only  taking  breath ;  that  is  all,"  answered  Mr. 
Griscom.  "  Then  there  are  churches  who  want  pastors  who  un 
derstand  the  happy  art  of  giving  the  Gospel  as  wide  a  berth  as 
possible ;  who  will  sugar  it  over  in  so  masterly  a  manner  that  it 
will  hurt  nobody,  and  yet  be  somewhat  like  the  Gospel,  after  all ; 
who  will  let  them  do  just  as  they  please,  and  not  interfere  with 
them  ;  who  will  lull  them  into  soft  religious  ease,  and  let  them 
pass  along,  in  their  silken  righteousness,  without  disturbing  them. 
Well,  churches  of  this  stamp  are  not  often  compelled  to  do  with 
out  preachers — not  very  often  !" 

"  Our  pastor  is  one  of  that  sort,"  remarked  the  lounger,  who 
thought  that  '  Miriam  might  suit  him  ;'  "  and  a  capital  fellow  he 
is,  too.  Lets  us  all  do  just  as  we  like.  Never  agitates  us,  nor 
himself." 

"  If  he  should  make  any  attempt  to  arouse  you,  you  would  not 
let  him  succeed,  I  presume  ?"  said  Mr.  Crittenden. 

"  Of  course  not,"  returned  the  idler.  "  We  don't  desire  to  be 
disturbed.  What  we  want  is  to  be  let  alone !" 

"  By  all  means,  sir.  Insist  upon  that !  And  in  that  hour 
when  you  stand  before  the  JUDGE,  tell  Him  how  bravely  and 
lordlily  you  compelled  your  pastor — one  of  His  messengers ! — to 
know  and  feel  the  littleness  of  his  place !  Tell  Him,  too,  THEN, 
that  you  want  HIM  to  let  you  alone  !" 

"  Sir  /"  cried  the  lounger,  starting  from  his  chair,  as  if  he  had 
been  stung. 


402  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  if  you  have  not  power 
enough  in  that  hour,  and  influence  enough  in  that  quarter,  to 
crush  and  ride  over  HIM,  where  will  you  be  7  Will  you  say  to 
Him,  '  I  don't  desire  to  be  disturbed  1  You  let  me  alone,  and 
ril  let  You  alone !'  " 
The  idler's  cheek  became  livid. 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  he  cried,  laughing,  to  hide  his  agitation.  "  Very 
good — very  good.  But  I  don't  like  such  jokes.  They  are  posi 
tively  shocking !" 

"  It  is  no  joke,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Crittenden,  calmly.  "  Making 
light  either  of  Jehovah,  of  the  Redeemer,  or  of  the  Redeemer's 
workmen — or  throwing  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  latter,  in 
their  efforts  to  rescue  men  from  the  stream  which  is  hurrying 
them  onward  to  the  Eternal  Gulf,  is  no  laughing  matter,  I  assure 
you  !  If  you  think  the  contrary,  laugh  on — encourage  yourself 
and  your  friends  in  neutralizing  the  honest  labors  of  your  pastor 
— insist  upon  his  letting  you  alone — nay,  compel  him  to  do  so  ; 
and  by-and-bye,  when  you  stand  together  at  The  BAR,  he  will 
say,  '  This,  Lord !  is  one  of  them  who  fought  against  Thee  and 
me  !'  " 

The  lounger  made  no  reply  ;  but  the  lesson  was  not  lost  upon 
him.  Ere  many  weeks,  he  was  another  and  a  better  man. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Sly,  "  I  agree  with  Mr.  Griscom. 
The  pulpit  is  an  unmitigated  humbug." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  Mr.  Sly  !"  observed  Mr.  Crittenden. 
"  We  all  understand  your  reason  for  thinking  so.  But  one  of 
these  days,  when  your  share  of  flooding  the  world  with  brothel 
and  bar-room  literature  is  finished,  you  will  entertain  views  of  a 
somewhat  different  color !" 

"  Sir  !"  cried  the  little  publisher,  boiling  with  rage. 

"  O,  sir !"  returned  Mr.  Crittenden,  calmly,  "  reserve  your 
airs  for  those  whom  they  will  impose  upon.  They  are  wholly 
lost  upon  me  /" 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         403 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  coming  up  to  the  assist 
ance  of  his  ally,  "  perhaps  Mr.  Crittenden,  who  has  never  been 
very  famous  for  his  piety,  may  be  wholly  ignorant  of  the  charac 
ter  of  religious  machinery.  Many  people  are  !' 

"  I  admit  the  justness  of  your  observation,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Crit- 
tenden  ;  "  and  I  take  shame  for  my  delinquency  hitherto  in  those 
duties  which  every  man  owes  to  his  Maker  and  Redeemer.  But 
I  repent  me  of  my  error,  and  I  call  you  all  to  witness  that  I  am, 
from  this  hour,  on  the  side  of  my  Master  !" 

"  Joy — joy  !"  murmured  Miriam. 

Charley  Gibbs  looked  at  his  intended,  and  observed  in  a  whis 
per,  "  Won't  this  be  rare  news  for  our  next  meeting  in  the  pack 
ing-room  ?  Won't  there  be  great  rejoicing  !" 

"  All  this  is  from  the  point,"  said  Mr.  Jessup.  "  The  subject 
is  not  of  the  sudden  conversion  of  Mr.  Crittenden,  but  of  the 
humbugs  in  the  pulpit." 

"  One  word,  sir,"  said  Samuel,  stepping  forward.  "  Language 
like  this  is  unfair,  unmanly,  and  ungenerous,  unless  you  are  pre 
pared  with  something  better  than  mere  idle  supposition,  or  un 
founded  conclusions,  to  sustain  it.  It  is  a  common  thing  for 
worldly  minds  to  inveigh  against  the  sacred  profession,  and  to  mis 
take  irony  for  wisdom.  I  hope,  Mr.  Jessup,  that  if  you  have 
any  remarks  to  make  upon  the  pulpit,  you  will  make  them  in  a 
spirit  of  manly  frankness  ;  that  you  will  use  particulars,  not 
generalities,  and  employ  facts,  not  sarcasms." 

"  Griscom,"  said  Mr.  Jessup,  "  give  this  young  gentleman  some 
facts.  He  wants  facts — nothing  but  facts  !" 

And  the  cotton-broker  roared  with  jolly  laughter — at  what, 
nobody  else  knew,  for  they  could  see  nothing  very  funny  either 
in  Samuel's  request,  or  in  Mr.  Jessup's  remark. 

"  What  sort  of  facts  will  you  have,  Mr.  Leland  1"  inquired 
the  hardware  dealer,  in  a  tone  which  implied  that  he  had  a  very 


404          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

extensive  assortment  on  hand,  and  could  accommodade  the  gen 
tleman  with  any  desired  kind,  and  in  quantities  to  suit. 

"  Those  which  confirm  your  right  to  brand  the  clerical  pro 
fession  with  opprobrium,"  answered  Samuel. 

"  There'll  be  warm  work  presently !"  whispered  Mr.  Brig- 
ham  to  Isabella.  "  Samuel  is  going  to  annihilate  that  fellow  !" 

"  He  is  able  to  do  it !"  returned  Isabella. 

"  Umph  !  y-es.     Perhaps  so  !"  returned  the  confidential  clerk. 

It  was  evident  from  the  looks  and  whisperings  of  the  company 
that  they  anticipated  an  engagement  between  Samuel  and  the 
sarcastic  gentleman,  in  which  they  did  not  expect  that  the  latter 
would  come  off  conqueror. 

Samuel  himself  was  calm,  earnest,  and  eager.  He  felt  that 
he  stood  before  the  assembly  as  the  champion  of  a  profession 
which  every  worldling  considers  it  a  mark  of  sagacious  cleverness 
to  mock  and  say  cutting  things  of;  and  he  resolved,  with  his 
Maker's  help,  to  do  good  battle  for  the  messengers  of  his 
Prince. 

"You  want  some  facts,  Mr.  Leland "?"  said  the  hardware  dealer, 
sneeringly. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  shall  be  accommodated.  I  always  make  it  a  point  to 
gratify  the  whims  of  young  men,  because  I  was  young  myself 
once,  and,  like  you,  had  an  overweening  desire  to  be  considered 
wiser  and  sharper  than  I  really  was  !" 

"  Ha,  ha !  ho,  ho  !  he,  he  !"  cried  the  cotton-broker,  clapping 
his  hands.  "  Very  good.  Hit  him  again,  Griscom  !" 

"  Not  so  very  bacU!"  remarked  the  witty  editor,  with  the  air 
of  a  critic.  "  I've  heard  of  cuts  that  were  weaker  !" 

"  The  best  of  your  own,  for  instance  !"  said  Isabella. 

And  the  laugh  was  against  the  editor. 

"  All  this  goes  for  nothing,  Mr.  Griscom,''  observed  Samuel, 
quietly.  "  I  asked  you  for  facts,  and  not  personalities.  If,  after 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          405 

so  learned  and  oracular  a  flourish,  you  have  no  facts  to  give,  con 
fess  it  like  a  man,  and  retreat  from  your  position.  There  is  no 
shame  in  abandoning  an  untenable  cause." 

"  Ah !  you  flatter  yourself,  Mr.  Leland.  My  cause  is  both 
tenable  and  satisfactory,  as  you  will  discover  to  your  dismay 
before  I  get  done  with  you  !" 

"  Facts,  Mr.  Griscom — not  threats  ;  facts !"  said  Samuel, 
calmly.  "  Don't  beat  about  the  bush  with  sarcasms,  which  are 
harmless,  because  unworthy  ;  but  come  to  the  point  at  once. 
I  am  waiting  for  your  facts,  Mr.  Griscom !" 

The  hardware  dealer  eyed  the  speaker  for  a  few  moments  with 
a  derisive  air,  and  then  said — 

"  You  appear  to  be  very  eager,  Mr.  Leland.  Be  cool,  sir ;  be 
cool.  In  discussion,  there  is  nothing  like  preserving  one's  equa 
nimity.  When  T  see  a  youth  of  your  years  so  very  hot,  I 
always  feel  a  touch  of  pity  for  him.  It's  a  weakness  of  mine  to 
look  with  compassion  upon  the  rashness  of  young  blood ;  but  I 
can't  help  it.  Now,  be  cool,  Mr.  Leland — be  cool.  It  will  do 
you  good — believe  me !" 

"  These  tricks  do  not  impose  upon  me,"  said  Samuel,  quietly. 
"  Now,  sir,  I  am  waiting  for  your  facts  !"  "„?-,. 

"  You  cannot  throw  Mr.  Leland  off  his  guard,  Mr.  Griscom," 
said  Isabella,  in  a  tone  which  provoked  general  laughter  ;  "  and 
therefore  you  might  as  well  come  to  the  point  at  once.  Mr. 
Leland  understands  all  your  moves,  and — so  do  we  !" 

"  O,  Miss  Landon,"  sneered  the  satirical  gentleman,  "  if  I  am 
expected  to  face  two  such  terrible  enemies,  I  shall  most  certainly 
retreat !" 

"  O,  Mr.  Griscom,"  interrupted  Isabella,  "  be  kind  enough  first 
to  show  yourself  strong  enough  for  one  /" 

"  Come,  come,  Griscom,"  laughed  the  cotton-broker,  "  you 
might  as  well  commence  at  once.  Miss  Landon  will  show  you 
no  quarter,  else  I" 


4:06         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Well,  then,"  smiled  the  hardware  dealer,  making  the  best 
of  his  position,  "  here  goes.  The  pulpit  is  a  humbug,  because 
its  members  preach  for  their  congregations  instead  of  for  their 
Master !" 

"That  is  a  wholesale  charge,  and  therefore  unworthy.  It  is 
made  every  day  by  superficial  witlings,  but  has  no  foundation 
in  fact.  Wholesale  denunciations  never  come  from  reflecting 
minds.  Oblige  me,  Mr.  Griscom,  by  descending  to  particulars. 
Name  some  one  of  our  metropolitan  clergymen  whom  you 
know  to  be  a  traitor  to  his  Master." 

The  sarcastic  gentleman's  eyes  sparkled  with  anticipative 
triumph. 

"  George,"  he  said,  addressing  the  lounger,  "  what  is  the  name 
of  your  pastor  ?" 

"  Mr.  Gadsden." 

"  There,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  with  a  dry  grin,  "  is  one, 
to  begin  with  !" 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  sir1?"  asked  Samuel. 

"  You  heard  what  George  said  a  while  since,  I  presume,  sir  V 
returned  the  hardware  dealer.  "  That  was  pretty  good  evidence. 
It  came  from  one  of  the  gentleman's  own  parishioners  !" 

"  Ha,  ha !  young  man !"  chuckled  the  cotton-broker,  "  Mr. 
Griscom  rather  had  you  there  !" 

"  Stop,  stop,"  said  the  lounger,  who  had  been  ruminating  upon 
Mr.  Crittenden's  'joke,'  "I  take  back  what  I  said  of  Mr.  Gads- 
den.  Upon  further  consideration,  I  don't  think  him  a  very  bad 
minister.  He  preaches  the  Gospel  as  well  as  he  knows  how ; 
and  he  does  know  how  pretty  well.  And,  now  I  think  of  it,  he 
has  been  the  instrument  of  leading  a  good  many  to  repentance 
since  he  has  been  among  us !" 

The  satirical  gentleman  turned  pale. 

The  cotton-broker  bit  his  lip. 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         407 

The  company  indulged  in  a  general  titter,  which  glided  off 
into  a  general  roar. 

"  Pretty  good  !"  observed  the  witty  editor.     "  It  will  do  for 
an  article  in  my  next  number." 
'  "  Your  second  evidence,  sir  ?"  said  Samuel,  quietly. 

"  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  "  what 
the  general  opinion  is  concerning  ministerial  unfaithfulness, 
and—" 

"Evidence,  sir — evidence!"  interrupted  Samuel. 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  will  have  it — your  own  pastor :  Mr. 
Engold  !" 

"  Mr.  Townsend,"  said  Samuel,  turning  to  that  gentleman,  "  you 
are  a  trustee  in  our  church.  You  have  known  Mr.  Engold  for 
many  years.  Frankly,  now,  and  as  a  man  who  is  bearing  solemn 
testimony  :  What  do  you  think  of  his  conduct  as  a  pastor  1  Has 
he,  till  within  the  last  fortnight,  done  his  duty  to  the  best  of  his  abil 
ity  1  Has  he  been  faithful,  in  season  and  out  of  season — making 
all  times  his  season  1  Has  he  preached  like  one  who  appeared 
to  feel  the  responsibility  of  his  high  office ;  like  one  who  was  in 
the  service  of  his  Prince  :  like  one  whose  chief  desire  was  to  lead 
his  hearers  from  sinful  unto  righteous  ways  1  Answer,  frankly 
— honestly  ;  as  if  you  were  at  JEHOVAH'S  BAR  !" 

"  Solemnly,  then,"  answered  the  merchant,  "  I  affirm  it  to  be 
my  belief  that — bating  a  few  suspicions,  for  which,  after  all,  now 
that  I  reflect  upon  them,  I  can  see  no  just  reasons — Mr.  Engold 
has  been  ever  faithful." 

"  You  hear,  sir '?"  said  Samuel,  addressing  the  hardware  dealer. 

"  I  do,"  answered  the  latter.  "  But,"  he  added  with  a  sneer 
ing  smile,  "  you  forget  the  proviso  in  time :  '  Till  within  the  last 
fortnight !'  What  has  happened  since  then  ?  Has  he  proved 
traitor,  at  last  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Townsend,"  said  Samuel,  "  answer  him." 

"  Mr.  Engold  has,  within  the  last  fortnight,  been  the  instru- 


408  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

meat  of  spiritual  happiness  to  over  an  hundred  hearts,"  replied 
the  latter. 

Mr.  Griscom  colored,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  as  if 
in  quest  of  an  idea. 

The  cotton-broker  partook  of  his  friend's  confusion,  and  looked 
very  much  as  if  he  wished  himself  somewhere  else. 

"  Your  evidence,"  said  Samuel,  to  the  hardware  dealer. 

"  Now,  where  is  the  use  in  dragging  up  the  incumbent  of  every 
pulpit  in  the  city  for  examination  T  demanded  Mr.  Griscom, 
impatiently.  "  It  is  unfair  !" 

"  And  yet,  sir,  you  had  no  hesitancy  in  arraigning  the  entire 
body  /"  said  Samuel,  mournfully.  "  I  put  it  to  your  candor,  Mr. 
Griscom :  Which  is  the  most  unjust  ?" 

"  And  I  had  a  perfect  right  to  do  so,"  returned  the  hardware 
dealer,  in  a  fume.  "  Everybody  knows  the  inefficiency  of  hun 
dreds  in  the  profession." 

"  The  question  is  not  of  their  inefficiency,  but  of  their  unfaith 
fulness,  Mr.  Griscom." 

"  Well,  then,  of  their  unfaithfulness  !"  answered  the  hardware 
dealer,  fiercely.  "  Everybody  is  aware — " 

"  Evidence,  Mr.  Griscom  !  You  are  making  a  solemn  charge, 
sir.  Evidence !" 

"  My  own  pastor,  then :  Mr.  Fenton !" 

"  Do  you  know  him  to  be  false  ?" 

"  I  think  that,  for  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  he  takes  things 
rather  coolly !"  was  the  half-laughing,  half-sneering  reply. 

"  How,  coolly  ?" 

"Easy,  then ;  if  that  will  suit  you  better  !" 

"  How,  easy  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  showing  more  temper  than 
was  at  all  necessary,  "  he  don't  allow  the  souls  of  his  congrega 
tion  to  disturb  him  very  seriously.  I  presume  you  compre 
hend  me,  now  ?" 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          409 

"  I  do  not,"  replied  Samuel,  quietly. 

"  Then  I'll  be  as  plain  as  possible,  sir,  to  accommodate  the 
singular  dulness  of  your  mind  !" 

"  I  will  overlook  your  uncalled-for  personality,  Mr.  Griscom, 
providing  you  will  be  explicit." 

"  You  are  remarkably  kind,  sir  !" 

"  To  the  point,  Mr.  Griscom." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,"  said  the  sarcastic  gentleman,  "  I  think  that, 
for  one  who  professes  so  deep  an  interest  in  the  business  of  His 
Master,  Mr.  Fenton  exhibits  a  remarkable  lack  of  fire  !" 

"Energy,  you  mean1?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Griscom,  that  Mr.  Fenton  is  not  a  man  of  a 
vigorous  mould.  He  is,  by  nature,  of  a  mild,  tranquil  tempera 
ment.  His  manner  is  easy,  gentle,  and  subdued.  It  would, 
therefore,  be  unfair  to  look  for  the  same  flaming  energy  in  him, 
that  you  would  from  a  more  robust  man.  Clergymen,  although 
in  the  service  of  The  Redeemer,  are  still  human,  and,  for  that 
reason,  subject,  like  all  other  men,  to  physiological  laws.  One 
is  not  full  of  animal  vigor,  because'he  is  suffering  \\ith  a  certain 
degree  of  palpitation  of  the  heart ;  a  second  is  comparatively 
tame,  in  physical  display,  owing  to  dyspepsia ;  a  third,  in  conse 
quence  of  a  rupture  ;  a  fourth,  from  one  of  the  many  forms  of 
consumption  ;  a  fifth,  on  account  of  a  pleurisy  ;  a  sixth,  because 
of  some  lung,  liver,  or  other  complaint,  and  so  on  ;  but  nearly  all 
in  consequence  of  some  internal  disease,  which  an  undue  agitation 
of  the  nervous  system  might  suddenly  increase  and  render  fatal. 
Inconsiderate  persons  would  sneer  at  these ;  and,  because  they 
fail  to  exhibit  the  same  muscular  action  which  they  evinced  when 
in  sound  health,  or  because  they  do  not  come  up  to  the  strong, 
nervous,  declamatory  standard  of  other  preachers  of  a  sturdier 
and  bolder  build,  they  thoughtlessly  brand  them  as  easy,  luke 
warm,  and  indifferent,  and  charge  them  with  want  of  faithfulness, 
18 


410         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

enthusiasm,  et  cetera !  Others  are  mild  from  const!',  utional 
causes.  One  has  no  taste  for  violent  delivery,  and  therefore 
avoids  it ;  another  has  no  confidence  in  boisterous  declamation, 
and  hence  steers  clear  of  it ;  while  a  third  is  mild  from  tempera 
ment.  Mr.  Fenton  is  one  of  the  latter.  His  organization  is  of 
a  delicate,  refined  order.  You  would  hardly  expect  him — a  mere 
student,  with  a  student's  habitudes — him,  a  mild-feeling  and 
mild-mannered  gentleman  by  nature  and  education — to  display 
the  muscular  powers  of  one  cast  in  the  rough,  energetic  form  of 
an  athlete.  Mr.  Fenton  is  of  an  entirely  different  make.  In  his 
formation,  nature  bestowed  greater  attention  upon  his  mind  than 
upon  his  body.  He  is,  therefore,  more  remarkable  for  his 
mental  than  for  his  physical  developments.  But  what  he  lacks 
in  animal,  he  more  than  makes  up  in  intellectual  vigor.  His 
style  is  calm,  polished,  and  persuasive ;  his  manner  earnest  and 
impressive.  He  has  done,  and  is  doing,  good  work  for  his 
Prince.  However  uncharitably  you  may  judge  him,  he  is  yet  a 
faithful  and  successful  soldier  of  The  Cross.  Have  confidence  in 
him;  for  he  is  noble,  worthy,  and  true.  View  him  kindly, 
frankly — not  as  if  he  were  a  stranger,  in  whom  you  felt  no 
interest — but  as  a  man,  a  gentleman,  an  envoy  from  On  High, 
and  your  pastor :  and  you  will  find  him  a  man,  with  a  warm  and 
generous  heart  for  you  and  all  humanity  ;  a  gentleman,  with  all 
the  delicate  susceptibilities  and  refined  instincts  of  a  gentleman; 
an  envoy,  with  a  single  eye  to  the  service  of  his  dear  Lord  ;  and 
a  pastor,  prompt,  earnest,  and  watchful  of  his  flock — yearning, 
striving,  to  lead  and  keep  them  in  the  heaven-path — and  bending 
every  energy  of  his  fine,  cultivated  mind  towards  inspiring  all 
with  whom  he  comes  in  contact  with  the  same  oneness  of  pur 
pose,  the  same  gentleness  of  spirit,  and  the  same  Christian  integ 
rity  which  animate  his  own  upright  heart." 

"You  draw  him  with  a  flattering  pencil !"  sneered  the  hard 
ware  dealer.     "  But  as  I  am  not  very  largely  gifted  with  faith  in 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         411 

aught  but  humbug,  you  must  excuse  me  from  believing  in  the 
accuracy  of  the  likeness  !" 

"  Are  there  any  others  here,"  inquired  Samuel,  appealing  to 
the  assemblage,  "  who  are  acquainted  with  Mr.  Fenton  1" 

There  was  no  reply.  After  a  brief  pause,  the  young  Christian 
resumed. 

"  Solemnly,  then,"  he  said,  with  an  impressive  gesture,  "  I 
aver,  in  the  absence  of  all  other  witnesses,  that  I  have  known  Mr. 
Fenton  for  two  years  and  upward ;  that  I  have  heard  him  preach 
many  times,  and  always  found  him  a  faithful  deliverer  of  The 
Message ;  that  I  have  experienced  much  joy,  comfort,  and  en 
couragement  from  his  sermons  ;  that  I  have  conversed  with  him 
privately  concerning  the  enterprises  of  our  Prince,  and  always 
found  him  earnest,  anxious,  and  affectionate;  that  I  have  seen 
him,  when  his  best  friends  knew  of  it  not,  in  the  haunts  of  the 
poor,«doing  good  as  it  were  by  stealth,  giving  advice  with  a  liberal 
heart,  money  with  a  generous  hand ;  that  I  have  seen  him,  on 
many  a  pitiless  night,  and  at  hours  when  most  men  were  partak 
ing  of  refreshing  rest,  making  his  way,  through  stormy  rain  and 
sleet,  to  chambers  in  which  you,  sir,  and  most  of  this  assembly, 
would  unwillingly  set  foot,  and  pleading  there,  with  all  the  might 
of  his  great  mind,  and  greater  heart,  for  mercy  for  departing 
outcasts;  that  I  have  known  him  to  forgive  and  pray  for  men 
who  have  slandered  and  worked  him  injury;  that  I  have  known 
him  to  privately  help  many  in  their  need,  to  give  kind  counsel 
to  others,  who  wanted  counsel  only,  and  to  sustain  several 
while  they  were  waiting  for  their  little  capitals — which  were 
furnished- by  himself — to  turn;  that  I  have  known  of  many 
whom  he  has  persuaded  from  the  path  of  crime ;  of  many  whom 
he  has  gently  led  from  wretchedness  to  comfort,  and  from  the 
darkness  of  sin  to  the  irradiancy  of  Light.  All  this  do  I  know, 
and  to  all  this  do  I  bear  glad  testimony  :  before  Him,  who  know- 
eth  it  already — before  you,  who,  not  knowing  it,  have  done  one 


412         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

of  the  truest  servants  of  my  Prince  a  grievous  and  ungenerous 
wrong !" 

A  murmur  of  satisfaction  rose  from  the  assembly.  Public 
opinion  was  setting  in  fast  against  the  hardware  dealer,  who  felt 
the  ground  gliding  away  from  under  him,  and  determined  to 
make  a  last  grand  effort  to  sustain  himself. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  demanded,  "  that  all  of  our  cler 
gymen  are  faithful  .*" 

"  As  a  BODY,  yes  ;  in  every  individual  case,  no  :  here  and  there 
a  false  one,  like  an  occasional  traitor  in  an  army ;  but  the 
instances  are  rare — rarer  than  you  dream ;  and  so  rare,  that  even 
you,  sir,  upon  a  candid  examination  of  the  subject,  would  be 
amazed  at  the  exceeding  smallness  of  their  number." 

"  If  that  be  so,  why  don't  they  accomplish  more  good  ?" 

"  They  do  accomplish  great  good  ;  more  than  you  think." 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  evidence  of  it,"  sneered  the  hardware 
dealer. 

"The  evidence  is  all  around  us,  sir.  In  the  advancement  of 
men  in  general  uprightness  ;  in  the  markedly  improved  tone  of 
our  country  and  the  age ;  in  the  rapid  march  of  morality  in 
literature, — which  has,  of  late  years,  turned  a  complete  summer 
set,  the  better  now  taking  the  lead  of  harmful  books,  which  for 
merly  swept  the  field ;  in  the  public  Press — which,  with  rare 
exceptions,  are  on  the  side  of  Truth  and  Right — few  or  no  jour 
nals  gaining  ground  in  circulation  save  those  whose  columns  bear 
witness  of  the  progressive  spirit  of  their  conductors ;  in  Legisla 
tion,  which  no  longer  laughs  with  impunity  at  the  moral  meas 
ures  demanded  by  the  moral  voice  of  the  people  ;  in  Politics, 
whose  day  for  obtaining  vast  majorities,  by  pandering  to  the 
mere  passions  of  the  multitude,  is  over — those  politicians  only 
ascending  higl'  in  the  atmosphere  of  public  sentiment  and  sup 
port  who  arc  unlisted,  professedly,  at  least,  under  the  elevating 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  TIM  LEFT.          413 

banner  of  reform  ;  in  Society,  which  is  no  longer  openly  arrayed 
on  the  side  of  vice — the  card-table  having  disappeared  from  the 
drawing-room,  the  rum-bottle  from  the  sideboard,  slang,  infidel 
ity,  impure  song,  and  ribald  music,  from  social  gatherings — those 
only  finding  admission  into  refined  circles  who  display  at  least 
an  appearance  of  religiousness,  those  openly  against  religion 
being  excluded,  and  confined  to  intercourse  with  their  own  kind. 
These  are  the  broad  results  of  the  labors  of  that  noble  army 
of  energetic,  self-sacrificing  men,  whom  you  so  ungenerously 
reproach !" 

"  Self-sacrificing !"  repeated  the  hardware  dealer,  ironically. 
P  Let  me  see :  Mr.  Engold  obtains  four  thousand  a  year,  and  the 
perquisites ;  Mr.  Gadsden  four  thousand  a  year,  and  the  perqui 
sites;  Mr.  Fen  ton,  four  thousand  a  year,  and  the  perquisites. 
Very  self-sacrificing — indeed  !" 

"  A  single  word,  sir,"  returned  Samuel ;  "  and  let  it  be  a  frank 
one,  as  you  are  a  gentleman  !  You  are  a  merchant,  that  is  to 
say,  a  business  man,  with  a  fair  yearly  income,  which  is  derived 
wholly  from  your  commercial  knowledge  and  labors.  You  earn 
over  four  thousand  per  annum — do  you  not?" 

"  I  should  hope  so,  Mr.  Leland !"  laughed  the  hardware  dealer, 
who,  it  was  well  known,  had  an  establishment  which  netted  him 
from  twenty  to  thirty  thousand  a  year. 

"  You  will  not  deny  that  the  clergymen  just  named  are  your 
equals  in  intelligence1?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"You  will  admit  that  their  respective  chances  in  trade  would 
be  as  favorable,  at  least,  as  your  own  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  That,  with  their  mental  abilities,  they  could  clear  from  ten 
to  twelve  thousand  a  year  7" 

"I  admit  that,  too,  sir." 


414          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"And  yet  you  think  there  is  no  self-renunciation  in  these  men 
when  they  voluntarily  relinquish  all  hope  of  fortune,  and  take  up 
a  profession  whose  highest  earthly  reward  is  scarcely  equal  to 
one-third  of  what  they  might  earn  in  commerce  ?" 

The  hardware  dealer  looked  down,  thoughtfully. 

"  More,  sir.  A  merchant  can  garner  up  some  portion  of  his 
income.  But  what  can  a  clergyman  save  1  You  expect  him  to 
live  in  a  style  corresponding  with  his  position  as  the  pastor  of  a 
wealthy  congregation.  To  have  influence  with  them,  he  must 
live  so.  How  far  will  his  paltry  income  enable  him  to  do  that, 
and  accumulate  anything  1  What,  then,  remains  to  him,  after 
five,  ten,  or  twenty  years  of  labor — his  position  not  permitting 
him  to  husband  aught  while  in  service1?  Poverty  /" 

The  hardware  dealer  was  dumb. 

"  Let  us  not  be  so  uncharitable,"  said  Samuel.  "  Where  one 
clergyman  of  high  talents,  learning,  and  piety,  receives  four  thou 
sand  per  annum,  a  thousand  others,  equally  as  devoted,  learned, 
talented,  and  pious,  do  not  obtain  eight  hundred.  Nay,  the  aver 
age  income  of  clergymen  throughout  the  Union  is  but  a  fraction 
over  three  hundred  dollars.  Why,  sir,  our  poorest  laborers  are 
paid  better  than  they  !  And  yet  you  brand  them,  in  effect,  as 
mere  fortune-hunters  !  What  would  you  say,  if  I  should  tell 
you  that  large  numbers  of  clergymen  are  compelled  to  preach 
and  earn  their  living,  in  other  ways,  into  the  bargain  ?" 

"  A  rare  case,  I  apprehend  !" 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,  it  is  the  case  with  thousands  !  Look 
you,  Mr.  Griscom.  While  a  small  proportion  of  that  noble  pro 
fession  receive  a  thousand  dollars  per  year,  the  generality  of  them 
scarcely  obtain  a  bare  living.  A  clergyman's  ability  to  pay  for 
a  new  suit  of  clothes  without  feeling  it  for  months  afterwards,  is 
the  exception — the  reverse  the  rule.  After  a  long  life  of  faithful 
service,  that  one  is  fortunate  who  can  leave  behind  him  enough 
.  of  his  own  savings — let  him  have  pinched  ever  so  hard — to  pay 


WHICH  :   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          415 

for  his  own  funeral !  And  yet  you  impugn  the  motives  of  men 
who  devote  the  best  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  years  of  their  lives 
to  the  great  cause  of  their  Redeemer !  Mr.  Griscom,  I  blush  for 
you  !" 

'  "Nay,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  "you  are  too 
hasty.     I  was  not  aware  of  all  this." 

"  And  yet  you — a  business  man  ! — have  formed  and  expressed 
an  unflattering  opinion  upon  the  highest  of  all  human  professions, 
without  making  the  slightest  examination  of  its  details ;  have 
borne  oracular  testimony  against  it  and  its  members ;  have  vili 
fied  it  and  them,  without  knowing  so  much  of  either  as  the  merest 
tyro  in  the  world's  affairs  could  tell  you  in  half  an  hour !  Mr. 
Griscom — Mr.  Griscom !" 

"I  yield,  I  yield,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  hardware  dealer, 
rising,  "  and  thank  you  for  the  lesson  which  you  have  read  me. 
There  is  my  hand,  sir;  and,"  he  added,  with  feeling,  "I  give  you 
my  word  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  that  I  have  uttered  my  last 
slander  against  the  pulpit." 

"  0  sir,  you  make  me  happy  to  hear  that.  For  of  all  toilers 
along  life's  pathway,  none  more  deserve  our  confidence,  our 
respect,  and  our  affection,  than  the  workmen  of  The  Cross  :  for 
they  come  to  us  as  no  others  come — in  our  Redeemer's  name  ; 
they  labor  as  none  others  labor — fighting  the  battles  of  their 
Master  as  never  fought  soldiers  in  any  lesser  cause.  Their  work,  to 
save  men,  not  destroy  them  ;  to  bring  them  happiness,  not  woe ; 
content,  whether  carrying  The  Message  to  the  civilized  hordes 
of  cities,  to  the  untutored  red  men  of  the  American  forest,  the 
savages  of  Patagonia,  the  bushmen  of  New  Zealand,  the  mountain 
eers  in  the  frosty  Caucasus,  the  wild  idolaters  of  Eastern  Ind,  or 
the  dark  sons  of  burning  Africa,  with  the  simplest  pittance ; 
struggling  manfully  and  bravely  for  men  and  their  Redeemer,  all 
the  way — and  when  they  come  to  lay  them  down  at  last,  thanking 
God,  with  grateful  hearts,  for  kindly  having  permitted  them  to  do 


416          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

battle  a  few  years  for  their  dear  Prince,  and  to  die  with  their 
harness  on  in  His  service !" 

"Enough,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Griscom,  frankly.  "I  see  my  error, 
and  freely  acknowledge  it.  Had  I  been  aware  of  those  facts 
before,  I  should  have  avoided  many  very  silly  blunders.  In 
future,  I'll  do  better.  In  the  meanwhile,  Mr.  Leland,  set  down 
Tom  Griscom  among  your  friends !" 

"  O,  sir,  you  make  me  very  happy.  All  men  who  are  friends 
to  my  Prince,  are  friends  to  me!" 

"  You  are  a  MAN,  sir,"  said  the  hardware  dealer,  pressing  his 
hand  with  much  warmth ;  "  and  as  men  are  few,  I  am  proud  to 
make  your  acquaintance."  Then  turning  to  the  company  and 
presenting  Samuel  to  them,  he  added  :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
my  friend.  You  would  all  do  well  to  make  him  yours  !" 

Miriam's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy  ;  those  of  the  Townsends  with 
pride ;  Mr.  Crittenden's  with  enthusiasm ;  Isabella's  with  tri 
umph  ;  Charley  Gibbs'  and  his  intended's,  with  satisfaction  ;  Mr. 
Brigham's  with  malignant  envy. 

Meanwhile  the  general  assemblage,  male  and  female,  were 
crowding  around  the  young  Christian,  shaking  him  by  the  hand, 
and  vying  with  each  other  to  attract  his  attention. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  party  broke  up,  and  the  curtain  drop 
ped  upon  Mr.  Crittenden's  last  exhibition  of  his  gallery  of  living 
portraits. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE  following  day  was  a  sad  one  at  Enfield. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  Joe,"  observed  Aunt  Betsy 
to  Mrs.  Leland,  as  they  were  sewing  in  the  kitchen.  "  The  deal 
little  creeter  has  got  the  dismals,  the  wust  kind.  Some'n  is 
going  to  happen,  sure  as  you  live !" 

"  Why  do  you  think  so,  Betsy  ?"  asked  her  mistress. 

"  Because  I'm  sure  on't.  Aint  Joe  a  reg'lar  barometer  when 
ever  danger  threatens  any  of  his  blood  ?  He's  such  a  sensitive 
creeter,  that  if  anybody  says  or  meditates  aught  agin  any  of 
us,  Joe  feels  it  in  an  instant.  Aint  it  allers  bin  so  ?" 

Mrs.  Leland  made  no  reply.  She  was  reflecting  with  an  un 
easy  air. 

"  All  families  have  got  their  barometers,"  continued  the  house 
keeper,  running  her  needle  with  amazing  rapidity,  and  looking 
around  to  see  if  a  speck  of  dirt  was  visible  anywhere.  "  I 
never  knowed  one  that  hadn't.  They  aint  all  aware  of  it,  though, 
because  every  one  isn't  pertic'lar  in  observing  such  things  ;  but 
I  know  it  to  be  true,  'cause  I've  noticed  it.  There's  the  De- 
bevois  family :  don't  they  allers  know  when  trouble's  coming 
along  to  them,  through  their  daughter  Jane,  the  poor  sensitive 
creeter,  who,  if  she  is  an  old  maid,  is  one  of  the  gentlest-hearted 
souls  in  town1?  Then  there's  Martha  Brundage ;  don't  she 
have  a  presentiment  whenever  anything's  about  to  happen  to  any 
of  her  folks'?  And  don't  her  presentiments  invariably  come 
true  1  My  brother  Tom — a  poor,  delikit,  nervous  lad — was  the 
barometer  of  our  family.  For  a  week  afore  father  died,  Tom 
had  a  sing'lar  idee  that  some'n  was  going  to  occur  to  one  of  his 


418          WHICH  :  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

race,  and  so  it  turned  out.  Another  time,  afore  I  was  a  widder, 
Tom  was  troubled  with  the  frights  for  three  days,  and  then  the 
fust  thing  we  knew,  news  came  tumbling  along  that  my  dead 
and  gone  husband,  Frank  Disosway,  had  been  killed.  And  now 
here's  Joe  a-sighing  and  grieving  through  his  pipe,  with  his  warn 
ings,  for  more'n  a  week.  SomeVs  going  to  happen,  sure's  we 
live !" 

Mrs.  Leland  and  her  husband,  ever  alive  to  the  least  change 
in  the  pipe  of  their  little  one,  had  also  observed  the  melancholy 
turn  in  the  old  familiar  tune.  But  they  had  purposely  refrained 
from  referring  to  it  in  his  hearing,  as  they  knew  by  experience 
that  such  remarks  always  had  the  effect  of  intensifying  the 
gloominess  of  the  little  minstrel's  spirit,  and  consequently  of  his 
pipe. 

"  But  to  whom  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Leland,  anxiously.  "  Pa  is  at 
home,  and  well ;  we  are  all  at  home,  and  well ;  Samuel's  letter 
of  Saturday  represented  that  everything  was  well  as  usual  with 
him,  and  that  he  had  every  reason  for  believing  that  he  was  in  good 
standing  with  Our  Prince !" 

"  All  that  is  very  true,"  returned  Aunt  Betsy.  "  But  still  I 
have  my  fears,  and  I  can't  get  rid  on  'em  !" 

"  Fears  of  what,  Betsy  ?"  asked  the  pastor,  who  had  just 
entered  the  kitchen. 

"  That  some'n's  going  to  happen  to  the  family,"  returned  the 
housekeeper. 

An  air  of  mournfulness  crept  over  the  mild,  tranquil  features 
of  the  clergyman. 

"  Here's  the  old  tune,"  continued  Aunt  Betsy,  stitching  away 
as  if  for  dear  life,  "  which,  for  a  long  time,  has  bin  telling  of 
nothing  but  roses,  posies,  sunny  fields,  bright  clouds,  and 
cheerful  things  gen'rally,  is  gone  off  all  of  a  sudden  into  the 
most  melancholy  glooms  and  thickets,  where  the  grass  and  moss 
are  allers  dark,  and  where  the  sun  never  shines ;  and  what  is 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         419 

wuss,  it  keeps  growing  sorrowfuller  and  sorrowfuller  every 
day !" 

"Don't  speak  so  loud,  dear  Betsy,  "  said  the  pastor,  gently, 
"  or  the  poor  boy  will  overhear  you  !" 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  said  the  housekeeper,  in 
a  lower  tone,  "but  some'n's  going  to  happen,  or  the  old  tune 
would  never  go  on  so.  Who  knows  but  trouble's  running  up  agin 
Samuel  ?" 

"  His  usual  weekly  letter,  which  we  received  yesterday,  tells 
us  that  all  goes  well  with  him,"  said  the  pastor. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Aunt  Betsy,  uneasily.  "  But  I  can't  get 
rid  of  the  idee.  Whenever  the  old  tune  goes  off  into  the  dis 
mals,  some'n  allers  does  happen  in  the  family.  Don't  you 
remember  how  mournful  it  was  in  July,  for  two  days  afore 
you  run  that  big  nail  into  your  foot,  out  in  the  lot,  which  laid 
you  up  for  three  weeks  V 

"True,  Betsy,"  answered  Mrs.  Leland.     " But  what  then  1" 

"  Just  this,"  answered  the  housekeeper.  "  Some'n  wuss'n 
that  is  coming  to  some  on  us  now,  or  Joe  wouldn't  a  had  such  a 
long  spell  of  the  dismals.  It's  a  warning  of  some'n — I  feel  it  in 
my  bones,  and  I  couldn't  get  rid  of  it  if  I  should  struggle  agin  it 
ever  so  hard.  Just  hear,"  she  continued,  in.  a  still  lower  voice, 
"  how  the  poor  child  is  going  on  now  with  his  pipe,  in  the 
parlor.  Isn't  it  enough  to  make  one  cry  1"  she  added,  by  way  of 
apologizing  for  the  agitation  of  her  voice  and  the  humidness  of 
her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Leland  rose  up,  in  much  distress,  and  quitted  the  kitchen. 

"  There  she  goes,"  said  Aunt  Betsy,  "  to  soothe  the  dear  little 
creeter.  But  it  will  be  of  no  use.  Joe  will  be  as  miserable  as 
can  be  till  the  thing — whatever  it  may  be — happens,  and  then 
he'll  be  sick.  It's  allers  the  way  with  him !  Where  are  you 
going,  sir  ?" 

"  To  the  post  -cffice,"  answered  the  pastor. 


420          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  With  a  letter  to  Samuel?"  asked  the  housekeeper,  hopefully. 

"  To  him,"  was  the  reply,  in  an  uneven  voice. 

And  the  clergyman  passed  with  a  disturbed  step  from  the 
parsonage. 

"  Gentle  heart !"  mused  the  housekeeper,  following  his  retreat 
ing  form  with  her  eyes.  "  No  woman's  was  ever  more  feeling 
and  tender  !"  Then  laying  by  her  sewing,  she  followed  her 
mistress,  murmuring,  "  If  anything  has  worked  agin  Samuel, 
we'll  know  all  about  it  in  a  few  days." 

But  neither  the  maternal  tenderness  of  Mrs.  Leland,  the  kind 
liness  of  the  housekeeper,  the  gentle  soothing  of  the  pastor,  nor 
the  coaxing  of  Ada — the  adopted  one — had  any  influence  upon 
the  sad  heart  of  the  little  minstrel.  The  pipe  was  still  in  trouble, 
still  in  sorrow — the  tune  was  still  a  Foreboding,  still  a  Fear,  whose 
great  terror  increased  with  each  succeeding  hour,  until  the  old 
entry  clock  struck  three,  when  the  tune  suddenly  shot  up,  into  a 
loud,  piercing  wail,  and  then  broke  short  off  and  was  dumb — as 
if  it  were  some  poor  human  thing,  whose  heart-strings  had  snap 
ped  and  parted,  to  unite  again  no  more. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  little  minstrel  himself  gasped  out  a 
single  word,  which  resembled  a  moan  more  than  a  word,  and 
fell  from  his  chair  in  convulsions. 

"  SAMUEL  !" 

Ah  !  then  there  was  woe  in  the  parsonage. 

They  raised  their  blind  boy  up ;  they  bathed  him  with  cold 
water  and  hot;  they  rubbed  him  with  oils,  with  towels  and 
liniment ;  they  called  in  the  doctor,  who  powdered  and  bled  him ; 
and  they  restarted  his  blood,  which  had  stood  still  for  a  time. 

They  put  him  to  bed,  softly  and  tenderly  ;  they  watched  and 
sighed  over  him  prayerfully,  tearfully ;  and  joy  came  back  to 
them,  for  life  had  returned  to  him,  on  the  fifth  day. 

Then,  with  grateful  hearts,  for  they  had  done  their  parts,  the 
parents  laid  them  down  to  rest  for  the  first  time  ;  but  still  beset 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          421 

with  anxious  fears,  for  one  from  -whom  they  had  not  heard,  and 
who  was  in  some  danger,  out  there,  in  the  world. 

They  woke  up  in  the  morning,  pale  and  unrefreshed. 

The  father  looked  into  the  mother's  eyes ;  the  mother  looked  into 
the  father's  eyes ;  and  then  both  looked  into  the  sightless  eyes 
of  their  little  one  on  the  bed.  In  those  blue  blind  orbs  they  read, 
plain  as  letters  in  a  book,  this  one  word : 

"  SAMUEL  !" 

On  their  eyes  it  fell,  like  the  ringing  of  a  midnight  bell— warn- 
ingly. 

The  minstrel's  brow  was  pale ;  but  on  it,  in  imploring  charac 
ters,  which  neither  father  nor  mother  could  resist,  was  this 
sentence  : 

"  Go  to  him— to  Samuel!" 

All  night,  they  sighed  and  wept ;  all  night,  they  moaned  and 
prayed — the  father  and  the  mother,  the  housekeeper  and  the 
brother— the  little  adopted  one  sleeping  the  while. 

But  with  the  earliest  dawn,  there  were  hurrying  and  bustling, 
trembling  and  embracing,  adieux  spoken  and  repeated,  and  at 
length  for  the  last  time. 

Then  a  wagon  at  the  door. 

Then  a  rattling  of  wheels — a  dashing  down  the  road — a  word 
of  hasty  parting  at  the  cars. 

Then,  in  a  poor  preacher's  heart,  bubbled  a  thousand  anxious 
hopes  and  fears — in  his  eyes  and  on  his  cheeks,  rippled,  in  sad 
and  silent  streaks,  the  lava  of  a  suffering  mind,  whose  thoughts 
were  gentle  for  all  his  kind — Dread's  hot,  unconscious  tears. 

Then,  a  whirling,  roaring  flight  of  cars,  and  of  time. 

Then,  weary  in  heart  and  brain,  and  worn  and  heavy  in  limb, 
a  stranger,  of  a  noble  air,  sank  on  his  knees  in  fervent  prayer, 
in  a  chamber  fresh  and  fair,  as  night  was  setting  in. 


CHAPTER     XXVI. 

THE  clergyman  rose  from  his  prayer,  refreshed.  Then  making 
his  toilet,  and  walking  down  his  agitation,  he  descended  from  his 
room,  and,  supper  having  long  been  over,  ordered  a  meal  to  be 
prepared  with  dispatch.  The  request  was  tardily,  but  at  length 
complied  with,  and  having  recruited  his  exhausted  frame,  the 
anxious-hearted  father  set  out,  on  foot,  for  Fifteenth  street. 

On  reaching  the  Townsends',  he  observed  a  number  of  carri 
ages  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  house  ;  the  windows  were  a-blaze 
with  light ;  music  and  dancing  were  going  on  within. 

The  clergyman  rang  the  bell,  which  was  immediately  respond 
ed  to  by  a  porter  in  livery. 

"  I  desire  to  see  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  pastor,  in  an  agitated 
voice. 

"  He  isn't  here  any  more,"  returned  the  porter ;  "  he  went  away 
a  fortnight  ago." 

"  Stay,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman  with  dignity,  as  the  man  was 
about  to  close  the  door. 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  lackey,  with  an  impudent  leer. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Townsend." 

"  Then  you  must  call  some  other  time.  We're  busy  now, 
with  a  wedding,  and  can't  be  disturbed !"  answered  the  fellow, 
disappearing  behind  the  portal. 

A  flush  of  indignation  rose  from  the  clergyman's  breast,  and 
swept  up  to "  his  temple^.  He  drove  it  back,  however,  and 
having  completely  mastered  his  temper,  he  again  rang  the  bell. 

"  Hullo !"  cried  the  porter,  reopening  the  door  just  enough  to 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT.          423 

allow  his  hand  to  protrude,  "you  here  again,  old  gentleman? 
Be  off,  now,  or  we'll  hand  you  over  to  a  policeman !" 

"  Call  your  employer,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  or  I'll  do  it 
for  you  !" 

"  You  will,  will  you,  old  gentleman  ?  That's  very  good  in 
you  !  But  as  we're  very  busy,  you  will  have  a  nice  time  in  seeing 
him— I  don't  think !" 

"  Have  you  no  shame,  sir  ?"  said  the  clergyman,  indignantly. 

"  There — there,"  said  the  flunkey,  "  run  along,  old  gen'leman 
— run  along.  We  can't  be  bothered  with  you  all  night !" 

And  the  door  was  closed  again. 

And  the  bell  was  pulled  again. 

On  this  occasion,  however,  without  any  response  from  the 
porter. 

After  waiting  a  reasonable  time,  the  clergyman  repeated  the 
ring;  but  meeting  with  no  notice,  he  pulled  it  again,  and  with  an 
energy  which  brought  the  porter  out  in  an  instant. 

"  Now,  go  away,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  roughly  upon  the 
visitor,  *'  or  I'll  compel  you  !" 

The  clergyman  made  no  verbal  reply ;  but  quietly  disengag 
ing  himself  from  the  flunkey's  grasp,  he  brushed  him  aside,  and 
passed  through  the  open  door  with  a  calm  dignity,  which  was  the 
more  impressive  for  the  ease  with  which  it  was  performed. 

The  porter  could  scarcely  credit  his  senses ;  but  by  the  time  he 
had  persuaded  himself  that  the  incident  was  not  all  a  dream,  the 
clergyman  was  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Townsend,  who  had  been 
summoned  from  the  drawing-room  by  one  of  the  attendants  in 
the  hall. 

"Be  good  enough  to  call  to-morrow,"  said  the  merchant, 
blandly,  on  learning  the  clergyman's  business,  "  and  I  will  give 
you  all  the  particulars  of  your  son's  sad  affair.  But  just  now, 
we  are  so  busy,  that,  really — " 

**  I  am  a  father,  Mr.  Townsend,"  said  the  clergyman,  impres- 


424         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

sively,  "  and  have  a  night  of  agony  before  me  !  Two  words — 
but  two ;  they  will  not  detain  you  as  many  minutes." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Leland  1"  said  the  merchant,  drawing  himself  up. 

"  What  is  the  nature  of  this  '  sad  affair'  of  which  you  speak, 
Mr.  Townsend?  I  judge,  from  your  manner,  that  you  deem  my 
son  culpable,  in  some  way.  You  will  please  forgive  my  warmth, 
if  I  appear  warm,  which  is  far  from  my  design.  But  I  am  a 
father,  sir — and — and,"  he  added,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  there  are 
bleeding  hearts  at  home,  sir,  and — and  one  in  my  breast,  too. 
Of  what — "  he  paused,  tremblingly,  and  then  continued,  with  an 
effort — "  with  what  is  my  boy — my  poor,  dear  boy,  my  Samuel ! 
— charged  ?" 

"With  theft,"  answered  the  merchant.  "The  money  was 
found  upon  his  person.  Now,  sir — go  !" 

The  clergyman  stood  as  if  transfixed.  The  light  that  fell 
upon  his  features  from  the  gas-burners  in  the  hall  revealed  a 
countenance  of  rare  manly  beauty,  but  clothed  with  so  sickly  a 
paleness  that  it  might  well  have  been  taken  for  that  of  a  corse. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  merchant  stiffly,  "  no  scenes  here. 
This  is  my  eldest  ward's  wedding  night,  and  I  can't  have  any  dis 
turbance.  Call  some  other  time,  and  I'll  give  you  any  explana 
tion  you  may  desire.  But  at  present,  I  cannot  be  annoyed." 

"  Stay,  Mr.  Townsend,"  gasped  his  visitor,  with  an  effort,  as 
the  merchant  was  moving  off;  *'  one  word.  My  son — my  Samuel. 
Where  is  he  T 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  sir.     He  has  disappeared  !" 

And  the  merchant  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

The  clergyman  reeled  from  the  house,  and  pursued  his  way, 
in  a  state  uf  bewilderment,  to  his  hotel,  when,  clambering  to  his 
chamber,  he  fell  upon  his  bed — stunned. 

How  he  spent  the  night — in  what  agony  of  heart  and  torture 
in  mind,  we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  following  morning,  he  proceeded  to  the 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         425 

store,  in  Liberty  street.  The  clerks  stared  at  him  as  he  threaded 
his  way,  through  the  sinuous  counter-passages,  towards  the 
platform.  They  fancied,  for  a  few  moments,  so  strange  was  his 
featural  likeness  to  that  of  his  son,  that  it  was  Samuel  himself 
suddenly  transformed  into  mature  age. 

The  clergyman  passed  into  the  office,  and  beheld  Mr.  Towns- 
end  conversing  with  a  gentleman  whom  he  recognized  at  once  as 
Mr.  Crittenden. 

Mr.  Townsend  colored  as  the  visitor  entered,  and  waved  him, 
with  formal  politeness,  to  a  chair. 

"  Mr.  Leland,  of  Enfield,  I  presume '?"  said  Mr.  Crittenden, 
courteously  extending  his  hand  to  the  clergyman. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  latter,  with  an  air  of  mournful  dig 
nity.  "  I  have  not  called  to  take  up  your  time,  gentlemen ;  but 
to  learn  the  cause  of  some  ungenerous  remarks  which  Mr. 
Townsend  took  the  liberty,  last  night,  of  casting  upon  the  charac 
ter  of  my  son." 

That  gentleman  caught  up  his  hat,  and  saying  to  his  partner, 
"  I'll  take  a  run  up  to  the  bank,"  slipped  out  of  the  office,  mutter 
ing,  "A  simple  old  fool !  Does  he  think  I  feel  any  interest  in  his 
affairs  1" 

And  yet  Mr.  Townsend  was  ashamed  of  his  ungentlemanly 
conduct  on  both  occasions ;  and,  before  he  reached  the  street, 
would  have  given  a  few  dollars  if  he 'had  had  sufficient  manliness 
to  say  so.  Had  the  visitor  been  a  dealer,  now,  instead  of  a 
clergyman,  he  felt  that  he  could  have  apologized  for  his  low  rude 
ness  without  any  difficulty  :  "  Because,"  thought  the  man  of  busi 
ness,  "  a  merchant  experiences  no  mortification  in  making  a  thou 
sand  explanations,  if  necessary,  to  conciliate  a — customer !" 

Mr.  Crittenden  perceiving  that  the  clergyman  comprehended, 
in  its  true  light,  the  character  of  the  business  which  called  the 
retiring  member  of  the  firm  so  suddenly -to  "  the  bank,"  observed, 
smilingly — 


426          WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Leland,  you  will  excuse  my  friend's  flight;  but 
the  fact  is,  he  is  so  vexed  at  his  shabby  treatment  of  you  at  his 
house,  that  he  has  not  courage  to  look  you  in  the  eye." 

"  No  apology  is  asked  for,  Mr.  Crittenden,"  said  the  clergy 
man.  "  I  had  forgiven  him  ere  I  reached  my  hotel." 

"  How  is  it  you  recognize  me  so  readily  ?"  asked  the  silent 
partner. 

"  From  my  son's  letters.  And  now,  sir,  if  you  please,  remem 
ber  that  I  am  the  father  of  the  man  whom  Mr.  Townsend 
charges  with — "  he  paused,  with  emotion,  and  then  added,  "  with 
theft  I" 

Mr.  Crittenden's  brow  became  grave. 

"  Listen,"  he  said, 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  returned  the  clergyman,  whose  voice,  manner, 
and  restlessness  indicated  that  he  was  sitting  upon  thorns; 

"  Mr.  Leland,"  began  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  I  have  a  sad  story  to 
tell  you ;  one  which,  as  I  perceive  by  your  manner,  you  are 
utterly  ignorant  of !" 

"A  sad  story  concerning  my  son  !"  cried  the  clergyman,  turn 
ing  pale.  "  But  I  am  interrupting  you.  Excuse  me  :  I  am  a 
father,  and  have  a  father's  feelings.  Go  on,  sir." 

But  Mr.  Crittenden  had  not  the  heart.  The  misery  of  the  sim 
ple-hearted  clergyman  unmanned  him.  He  rose,  took  a  glass  of 
water,  and  after  pacing  the  office  a  few  moments,  he  resumed 
his  seat,  and  commenced  again. 

"  For  some  weeks — indeed,  I  may  say  months — prior  to  the 
twenty-first  of  last  month,  when  Samuel  left  us,"  he  said,  with 
an  air  of  pain,  "  the  money-drawer  of  Mr.  Townsend,  who,  by 
mail  remittances  and  customers  coming  in  to  settle  up  their 
accounts,  receives,  daily,  large  amounts  of  cash,  had,  from  time 
to  time,  been  rifled  of  numerous  sums,  varying  from  twenty  to 
sixty  dollars.  The  aggregate  of  these  robberies  was  not  very 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          427 

large,  but,  as  you  will  readily  comprehend,  it  was  important  to 
put  a  check  to  them  at  the  earliest  possible  moment." 

"  And  my  boy — my  Samuel,"  cried  the  clergyman,  indig 
nantly,  "  was  suspected  of  this  peculation  !" 

"  Pray,  pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  I  said  not  that." 

"  But  you  mean  it,  Mr.  Crittenden — you,  who  should  have 
known  rny  son  better !  I  can  overlook  a  suspicion  of  such  a 
nature  in  an  organization  like  that  of  Mr.  Townsend.  But  with 
you,  sir,  it  is  another  affair.  You  are  a  deep  student  in  the  book 
of  human  nature  ;  you  can  read  a  man's  character  from  a  glance 
at  his  face,  from  the  intonations  of  his  voice,  from  his  step,  from 
his  individual  air,  and  from  his  utterance  of  a  single  sentence. 
With  all  this  vast  talent,  you  are  an  honorable  man — not  from 
policy  alone,  but  from  a  higher  motive :  Principle.  How,  then, 
sir,  could  you — a  man,  with  a  man's  heart,  and  a  man's  judg 
ment — reconcile  it  with  your  conscience  to  heap  so  gross  an  in 
justice  upon  my  pure,  my  high-minded  boy  !" 

"  You  are  condemning  me  unheard,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the 
silent  partner. 

"  Nay,  forgive  me,  Mr.  Crittenden,  if  I  have  spoken  unjustly," 
returned  the  clergyman.  "  I  am  a  father — a  man — an  humble 
servant  of  my  Prince,  and — and  my  poor  boy — my  Samuel, 
whom  I  have  known  and  loved  from  his  earliest  infancy — whose 
Christian  deportment,  all  his  days,  has  been  to  me  a  source  of 
joy,  and  hope,  and  pride — who  has  taught  me,  his  father,  to  love 
him  more  for  his  own  sweetnees  than  for  his  relations  to  me  as 
my  son — is  in  affliction,  and  my  heart  is  grieved." 

"  I  feel  for  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  with  emotion,  "  and 
I  sympathize  with  you.  Believe  it !" 

"  I  do,"  returned  the  clergy  nan.  "  But  you  must  bear  with 
me.  I  am  an  old  man,  sore  beset  with  suffering  in  mind  and 
body,  and  have  known  but  little  food  or  slumber  for  many  days. 
Be  brief,  therefore,  and  let  me  know  the  worst." 


428  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Listen,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden.  "  The  robberies  of  which 
I  have  spoken  gave  Mr.  Townsend  and  myself  so  much  uneasi 
ness,  that  we  concluded,  after  a  consultation  with  our  confiden 
tial  clerk — but  you  are  ill,  sir  !"  he  said,  stopping  abruptly. 

"  A  shudder  crept  over  me  at  the  allusion  to  Mr.  Brigham, 
such  a  feeling  as  I  sometimes  feel  when  in  the,  presence  of  an 
enemy — that  is  all,  sir,"  returned  the  clergyman. 

"  You  appear  to  know  Mr.  Brigham  ?" 

"  I  have  had  a  weekly  letter  from  my  son  ever  since  he  left 
home,"  said  the  clergyman,  explanatively. 

"  Ah  !  that  accounts  for  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Crittenden.  "  But, 
as  I  was  saying,  we  concluded,  after  a  consultation  with  our  con 
fidential  clerk,  to  lay  a  plan  for  detecting  the  guilty  party.  For 
this  purpose,  Mr.  Townsend,  for  three  or  four  weeks  previous  to 
the  twenty-first,  made  a  private  mark  upon  all  bills  which  came 
into  his  hands,  and  placing  the  money,  as  usual,  in  his  drawer, 
quietly  awaited  the  result.  The  first  week  passed  away  without 
any  new  theft.  On  Wednesday  of  the  second,  thirty  dollars 
were  missed  ;  but  without  remark.  Friday  of  the  third,  thirty- 
five  dollars  disappeared.  Tuesday,  of  the  fourth,  twenty-eight 
dollars  were  taken.  The  money  was  counted  at  one  o'clock  ;  at 
two  the  abstraction  was  discovered.  In  half  an  hour,  measures 
were  taken  to  detect  the  culprit.  Every  clerk  in  the  establish 
ment  was  summoned  into  the  office,  the  door  of  which  was  fast 
ened,  and  the  case  laid  before  them.  All  demanded  and  acqui 
esced  in  the  propriety  of  an  immediate  search — Mr.  Brigham. 
acting  as  searcher  of  the  first  half,  Mr.  Townsend  of  the  second. 
You  can  imagine  the  interest  and  excitement  of  the  examination. 
Mr.  Brigham's  part  was  unsuccessful ;  and  then  Mr.  Townsend 
commenced.  One  after  another  of  his  eight  were  searched,  but 
without  alighting  upon  the  culprit.  Mr.  Brigham  and  Samuel 
alone  remained,  both  of  whom  requested  to  be  examined,  like 
their  mates.  Mr.  Townsend  declined — no  suspicion  being  upon 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          429 

them ;  but  Mr.  Brigham  insisting,  he  was  thoroughly  searched — 
but  without  result.  The  desk,  together  with  every  article  in  his 
office,  was  ransacked,  his  very  coat  upon  the  wall,  his  hat,  chair, 
the  cushion  of  which  latter  was  ripped  open  and  thoroughly  dis 
sected,  but  without  avail.  At  length,  Samuel's  turn  came ;  and 
— but  I  fear  to  pain  you  !" 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  hoarsely.  "  I  am  trembling, 
you  see ;  but  not  with  fear  of  any  guilt  on  the  part  of  my  pure, 
high-minded  boy.  I  have  had  but  little  food  or  sleep  for  many 
days ;  and  1  am  weak — weak,  sir :  that  is  all !"  he  added,  in  a 
voice  that  would  have  moved  a  stone. 

Mr.  Crittenden  was  himself  agitated,  and  could  articulate  only 
with  difficulty. 

"In  fine,  Mr.  Leland,"  he  said,  falteringly,  "the  missing  twenty- 
eight  dollars  were  found — " 

"  Not  upon  Samuel !"  moaned  the  clergyman,  blanching  with 
mingled  indignation  and  horror.  "  Not  upon  my  son — not  upon 
my  bright  hope — my  poor,  poor  boy  !  O,  no — not  upon  him — 
not  upon  Samuel !" 

"  In  his  vest  pocket !"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  in  a  broken  voice. 
"  It  was  in  bills  and  gold — the  former  wrapped  around  the  latter. 

The  clergyman,  his  face  livid  as  death,  surveyed  the  silent 
partner,  with  a  proud,  indignant  eye. 

*'  Nor  was  this  ail,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  sorrowfully.  "  In 
the  right  corner  of  his  coat,  between  the  lining  and  the  cloth,  was 
found  another  roll  of  bills,  with,  as  in  the  first  instance,  a  ten- 
dollar  gold  piece  in  the  centre,  to  make  the  whole  sink 
down !" 

The  clergyman  surveyed  him  as  before,  but  without  making 
any  attempt  to  reply.  He  was  pale  and  speechless.  Had  he 
been  the  marble  thing  he  looked,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
dumb  or  motionless. 

Mr.  Crittenden  pitied  him ;  and  would  have  refrained  from 


430  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

saying  any  more,  but  there  was  that  in  his  auditor's  eye  which 
said — "  Go  on  !"  and  he  proceeded. 

"  The.  clerks  were  amazed.  Had  the  money  been  found  upon 
themselves,  they  could  not  have  evinced  more  affright.  Mr. 
Townsend  and  myself  were  paralyzed.  As  to  Samuel,  he  stag 
gered  like  a  drunken  man  towards  the  partition,  and  would  have 
fallen,  but  for  Mr.  Brigham  At  that  moment,  the  clock  struck 
three.  You  are  shuddering  again,  Mr.  Leland  !" 

The  clergyman  was  thinking  of  the  wail  of  the  old  tune,  and 
the  convulsions  of  his  poor  blind  boy,  at  that  eventful  hour  in  his 
first-born's  career. 

"  Go  on,  sir !"  he  said,  or  rather  moaned,  in  a  feeble  voice. 
"  Let  me  know  all." 

"  I  have  but  little  more  to  tell,"  replied  Mr.  Crittenden,  with 
a  sigh.  "  The  money  was  found  upon  him — not  all,  nor  yet  the 
half  of  what  had  been  stolen ;  but  yet  enough  to  brand  him, 
among  the  unthinking,  as  the  pilferer  of  the  whole,  and  conse 
quently — his  religious  pretensions  considered — as  a  vile,  deceit 
ful  man.  The  other  clerks  crept  out  of  the  office  with  an  air  of 
mingled  loathing  and  surprise — hissing  him  as  they  left,  and 
muttering,  iThis  accounts  for  his  enlarged  benevolence,'  '  Splen 
did  hypocrite,'  'Matchless  rascal,'  et  cetera,  to  none  of  which  did 
Samuel  reply  :  but  seating  himself,  pale. and  gasping,  in  a  chair, 
he  clasped  his  head  with  his  hands,  as  if  he  feared  that  it  would 
burst.  Mr.  Brigham,  who  was  the  last  to  remain,  was  the  only 
one  who  regarded  him  with  any  show  of  compassion.  He  ten. 
dered  the  unhappy  young  man  a  glass  of  water,  but  it  was 
declined.  Then,  with  an  aspect  of  real  sorrow,  he,  too,  retired, 
and  Mr.  Townsend,  Samuel,  and  myself  were  the  sole  occupants 
of  the  office." 

"  And  then,  sir — "  moaned  the  clergyman. 

"  Mr.  Townsend  looked  at  Samuel  for  a  minute  or  so,  as  if 
uiidecided  what  to  think,  say,  or  do,  and  then  snatching  up  his 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          431 

hat,  he  drew  a  long,  fretful  breath,  and  went  home  to  din 
ner." 

"  And  my  boy — my  poor  victimized  boy — " 

"  Remained  in  his  chair,  his  hands  pressing  his  temples,  and 
his  eyes  staring  at  the  floor  like  one  mad,  or  stunned — or  both. 
I  spoke  to  him ;  but  he  answered  not.  I  touched  him  gently  on 
the  shoulders ;  but  he  heeded  it  not.  I  then  left  him,  and  pretended 
to  occupy  myself  with  writing,  in  hope  that  he  would  eventually 
look  up  and  notice  me ;  but  all  to  no  purpose.  At  length,  I 
went  to  dinner ;  and  was  gone  an  hour.  On  my  return,  I  found 
him  as  I  had  left  him — in  the  same  attitude  in  the  chair,  his  hands 
still  pressing  his  wildly-throbbing  temples,  his  eyes  still  staring 
at  the  floor;  and  his  fellow-clerks  standing  around,  and  jeering 
him  at  the  door.  They  fled  at  my  approach,  but  still,  from  their 
departments,  watched  us  both  with  eager  gaze,  pointing  him  out 
at  times  to  their  customers  with  all  the  scorn  and  indignation  of 
honest  men !  I  drew  down  the  blind,  to  shut  off  their  imperti 
nent  eyes,  and  spoke  to  him  for  a  good  long  hour,  but  without 
eliciting  a  remark — nay,  not  so  much  as  a  word — in  response. 
It  was,  for  all  the  good  it  did,  like  talking  to  a  block,  a  statue,  or 
a  stone.  For  he  gave  not  a  single  sign  that  he  either  heard  me, 
or  was  aware  of  my  presence.  Dusk  came — the  closing  hour ; 
yet  still  he  sat  there,  motionless  and  tongueless  as  ever,  in  the 
chair,  and  staring,  as  before,  at  the  same  spot  on  the  floor.  At 
length  I  shook  him.  He  awoke  from  his  spell,  surveyed  me 
a  while  with  a  cold,  half-absent  eye,  caught  up  his  hat,  and,  still 
without  a  word,  passed  mechanically  from  the  office  and  the 
store,  and  then  home,  where  he  arrived  just  in  time  for  tea. 
The  meal  was  dispatched  in  silence,  and  then  all  rose  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  drawing-room — Samuel  following  them  more  like 
a  dead  thing  than  a  man.  No  one  to  spoke  to  him,  he  spoke  to 
none ;  but  his  eyes  wandered  from  one  to  another,  to  see  if  he 
had  yet  a  single  friend  there,  to  read  whether  all  believed  him 


432         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT.  OR  THE  LEFT. 

guilty.  It  was  a  nervous  and  an  unpleasant  hour.  Mr.  Brigham 
was  announced.  He  bowed  to  all  but  Samuel,  whom  he  regarded 
as  a  stranger.  Miss  Landon  received  the  confidential  clerk  with 
unusual  graciousness  and  favor ;  smiling  upon  him,  coquetting 
with  him,  caressing  him,  and  toying  with  him,  as  if  she  had  never 
thought  of  any  other  man  in  the  world.  You  will  understand 
this  the  better,  Mr.  Lei  and,  when  I  tell  you  that,  almost  from 
the  first  day  of  Samuel's  arrival  in  the  house,  Miss  Landon  had 
exerted  all  the  resources  of  her  worldly  mind  to  captivate  him, 
without,  however,  so  far  as  I  know,  making  the  slightest  impres 
sion  upon  his  heart." 

"  I  inferred  as  much  from  my  poor  boy's  letters,"  observed 
the  clergyman. 

"  At  length  the  clock  struck  eight,"  continued  Mr.  Crittenden. 
"  Thus  far,  not  a  word  had  been  addressed  to  Samuel — the 
Townsends  not  even  deigning  to  notice  him ;  (the  clergyman's 
brow  darkened  mournfully,)  Mr.  Brigham  glancing  at  him,  now 
and  then,  with  an  air  which  said,  '  Who  is  this  fellow ;'  Miss 
Landon  turning  her  back  to  him ;  Miss  Selden,  alone,  evincing, 
by  an  occasional  stolen  look,  that  she  was  still  friendly  to  him, 
still  had  confidence  in  him,  and  still  believed  him  to  be  as  noble, 
pure,  and  worthy  as  ever.  (The  shadow  upon  the  preacher's 
forehead  passed  away,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  play  of  grateful 
light.)  The  poor  girl  would  have  told  him  so,  and  would  have 
endeavored  to  chase  away  the  agony  of  his  heart,  but  was  deter 
red  by  a  secret  fear  that  he  might  misjudge  her  motive,  and  deem 
her  over  bold." 

"  Therein,"  said  the  clergyman,  with  emotion,  "  do  I  recognize 
the  modest,  retiring  spirit  whom  my  boy  has,  in  his  letters, 
described  to  me  so  often." 

"  You  but  do  my  fair  friend  justice,"  remarked  Mr.  Crittenden. 
"  Miss  Selden  is  one  in  ten  thousand  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the  form 
of  a  woman,  she  has  all  the  attributes  of  an  angel." 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          433 

"I  have  long  believed  that,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  without 
ever  having  seen  her." 

Mr.  Crittenden's  eyes  sparkled — why,  the  clergyman  did  not 
comprehend. 

"  At  length,"  he  repeated,  "  the  clock  struck  eight.  With  its 
last  stroke,  Samuel  rose  to  depart.  The  movement,  although 
understood  by  all,  was  apparently  heeded  by  none,  save  Miriam, 
who,  not  wishing  that  he  should  go  away  with  an  impression  that 
he  was  wholly  friendless,  broke  through  all  restraint,  and  spring 
ing  towards  him,  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  drew  all  eyes  upon 
her — '  Mr.  Leland  !  though  all  the  world  believe  you  guilty,  I  do 
not — I  will  not !  In  my  mind,  you  are  still  upright,  still  true, 
still  loyal  to  Our  Prince.  And  I  shall  pray  to  Him  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  night,  too,  and  ever  more,  to  have  you  in  His  keep 
ing,  and  to  come  up  to  your  help  in  this  great  trouble !'  Samuel 
pressed  her  hand  convulsively,  and  with  a  light  bow  to  all  in  the 
apartment,  silently  withdrew — for,  as  they  intuitively  felt,  the 
last  time.  The  Townsends  suppressed,  although  not  without  diffi 
culty,  their  emotion,  as  they  beheld  him  retire.  But  what  else 
could  be  looked  for  in  persons  who  live  mainly  for  the  world! 
Should  the  time  come,  as  I  firmly  believe  it  will,  when  this 
mystery  shall  be  cleared  up,  my  partner  and  his  lady  would  be 
among  the  first  to  congratulate  and  take  him  by  the  hand." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  the  clergyman,  charitably.  "  In  any  event, 
let  us  hope  so.  But  Miss  Landon*?" 

"  Miss  Landon,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  "  is  a  very  different  per 
sonage.  She  follows  where  the  world  leads.  Whom  society 
scouts,  she  scouts ;  whom  society  favors,  she  favors.  From  the 
moment  that  the  cloud  set  over  Samuel,  she  turned  from  him, 
as  she  would  return  to  him,  once  the  cloud  should  be  succeeded 
by  the  sun.  Her  smiles  and  countenance  are  only  for  the 
Acknowledged ;  she  has  no  sy.mpathy  for  the  ^acknowledged, 
let  them  be  never  so  deserving.  On  that  evening,  Mr.  Brig- 
19 


434:          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT. 

ham's  star  was  in  the  ascendant,  and,  seeing  that  Samuel's  was 
apparently  extinguished  forever,  she — more  to  evince  that  she  had 
never  really  thought  much  of '  that  young  man,'  than  anything  else 
— smilingly  assented  to  the  confidential  clerk's  vigorously  press 
ed  suit,  and  they  'were  married  yesterday.  They  had  their 
wedding  last  evening,  and  this  morning  they  started  South,  by 
way  of  Philadelphia,  to  spend  their  honeymoon,  at  the  end  of 
which  time,  or  I  do  much  mistake,  they  will  detest  each  other 
like  scorpions." 

"But,  my  son?" 

"  On  leaving  the  drawing-room,  Samuel  ascended  to  his  cham 
ber,  from  which  he  presently  returned  with  his  trunk,  and  pass 
ing  out  into  the  street,  looked  about  him  for  a  cab ;  but  finding 
none,  he  shouldered  the  trunk,  and,  with  agitated  steps,  moved 
off.  Since  then,  we  have  heard  nothing  of  him,  nor  have  we 
been  able  to  obtain  the  slightest  knowledge  of  his  whereabouts. 
I  had  myself,  until  this  morning,  supposed  that  he  had  returned 
to  Enfield." 

The  clergyman  bowed  his  head,  for  a  minute  or  two,  in  min 
gled  thought  and  sadness. 

"  Your  motive  in  seeking  him  out,  Mr.  Crittenden  ?"  he  asked, 
at  length. 

The  latter  hesitated,  but,  after  a  few  moments,  replied — 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  Samuel  is  the  victim  of  some  artifice ; 
and  it  occurred  to  me,  a  few  days  after  his  disappearance,  that 
he  might  perhaps  be  able  to  give  me  some  suggestion  which 
would  help  me  to  the  clue.  I  know  not  how  he  has  represented 
me  in  his  letters  ;  but  I  do  solemnly  affirm  that  if,  during  the 
excitement  of  the  twenty-first,  I  so  far  failed  in  my  judgment 
as  to  then  consider  him  guilty,  I  have  from  that  day  believed 
him  as  pure  and  high-minded  as  before." 

"  Samuel  has  always  spoken  very  favorably  of  you,  sir,"  said 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          435 

the  clergyman,  rising ;  "  and  I  rejoice  to  find  that  my  impres 
sion  harmonizes  so  happily  with  his." 

And  the  two  gentlemen  shook  hands  warmly. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Crittenden,  for  your  good 
opinion  of  my  boy  in  the  face  of  these  appearances,"  continued 
the  clergyman ;  "  and  rest  assured  your  confidence  in  him  will 
be  sustained,  when  this  wicked  scheme  shall  be  unfolded. 
But  your  partner,  sir — Mr.  Townsend  ]" 

"  You  must  not  think  unkindly  of  him,  sir,"  answered  Mr. 
Crittenden,  gently.  "  He  is  a  man  of  facts  ;  that  which  he  sees, 
he  believes ;  that  which  he  does  not  see,  he  has  but  little  faith  in  !" 

The  clergyman's  countenance  became  grave. 

"  The  packing-room  society  ?"  he  added. 

"Are  divided  in  their  opinions,"  replied  the  silent  partner: 
"although  the  majority  are  in  his  favor,  and  believe  that  the 
proofs  of  his  innocence  will  yet  be  clearly  established." 

"His  late  fellow-clerks'?" 

"  Are  strongly  inclined  to  hold  him  guiltless,  and  evince  an 
eager  desire  to  trace  the  matter  out." 

"  Charley  Gibbs  ?" 

"  O,  Charley  '  don't  know  what  to  think !'  His  mental  capa 
city  is  somewhat  circumscribed.  He  is  a  clever  fellow,  but 
not  very  deep.  We  must  not,  therefore,  expect  too  much  of 
Charley  !" 

A  gloomy  shade  tinged  the  clergyman's  forehead. 

He  pressed  Mr.  Crittenden' s  hand,  and  was  about  to  depart, 
when  the  latter  exclaimed — 

"  One  word,  Mr.  Leland.  I  am  somewhat  anxious  concern 
ing  Samuel,  and  shall  spare  no  efforts  to  discover  whither  he 
has  betaken  himself.  Let  us  both  work  in  this  matter,  and 
see  each  other  often.  If  you  find  him,  be  kind  enough  to  let 
me  know;  should  I  be  the  first  to  obtain  information  of  his 
abode,  I  will  send  you  word  without  delay.  Your  address  ?" 


486          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"The  Irving  House,"  answered  the  clergyman,  pressing  the 
gentleman's  hand  gratefully.  "  Room  No.  Eighty-one.  Adieu  !" 

"  For  a  brief  period  only,  I  trust,  Mr.  Leland !"  said  Mr. 
Crittenden,  with  affectionate  warmth.  "Allow  me  to  see  you 
to  the  door." 

The  clerks  stared  at  them  as  they  passed  through  the  store. 
"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  addressing  them,  after  the 
clergyman's  departure,  "the  individual  whom  you  saw  just 
now  is  Samuel's  father,  and  my  friend.  In  future,  you  will 
oblige  me  by  bearing  that  fact  in  mind  !" 

The  hint  was  too  significant  not  to  be  understood.  There 
was  no  impertinent  staring  at  the  clergyman  after  that! 

Mr.  Leland  returned  to  his  hotel  with  a  bleeding  heart,  and 
indited  two  letters — one  to  his  wife,  the  other  to  the  chairman 
of  the  trustees  of  his  church.  To  both,  he  gave  a  detailed 
statement  of  the  result  of  his  visit  to  New  York ;  and  from 
both  he  desired  suggestions  in  reference  to  his  own  future 
course,  together  with  the  assistance  of  their  prayers.  The  mis 
sives  created  the  profoundest  excitement  and  indignation  at 
Enfield.  The  idea  of  Samuel's  guilt  was  scouted  at ;  and,  at 
a  meeting  in  the  church,  it  was  unanimously  decided,  first,  to 
give  their  pastor  a  leave  of  absence  for  three  months,  in  which 
to  find  his  son ;  secondly,  to  send  him  a  thousand  dollars,  with 
which  to  prosecute  his  search ;  thirdly,  that  the  entire  congre 
gation  should  aid  him  with  petitions  to  The  Holy  One ;  and 
fourthly,  that  the  thousand  dollars  should  be  forwarded  to  him 

WITHOUT  DELAY. 

The  third  day  brought  back  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Leland.  Its 
contents  were  brief,  but  stirring  : — 

"  DEARLY  BELOVED — Come  not  back  without  tidings  of  our 
boy— of  Samuel  I" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  437 

A  tear  rushed  to  the  poor  clergyman's  eye,  as  he  murmured — 

"  There  spoke  the  heart  of  a  true  mother  !" 

On  the  fifth  day,  came  the  response  of  the  trustees : 

"  DEAR  PASTOR — We  sympathize  with  you  in  your  great 
affliction.  But  cheer  up :  Our  King  is  merciful,  Our  Prince  is 
kind — and  THEY  will  be  with  you.  Samuel  is  innocent,  and  HE 
will  make  it  manifest.  Find  your  boy,  bring  him  back  to  us, 
and  we  will  cherish  both  him  and  you.  We  are  praying  for  you 
— our  love,  our  affection,  and  our  highest  esteem  are  with  you. 
Take  three  months — more,  if  necessary.  We  send  you  a  draft 
for  a  thousand  dollars  to  help  you — should  more  be  called  for? 
our  hearts  are  ready,  our  purses  open.  Find  Samuel !" 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

LOSE  a  piece  of  money  in  a  wood,  and — look  for  it.  Lose  a 
boat  on  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  look  for  it.  Lose  a  friend  in  a 
crowd,  and  look  for  him.  Lose  a  son  in  the  human  sea  of  New 
York,  and  look  for  him  ! 

Three  months  of  weary  walking,  of  weary  inquiry,  of  weary 
advertising,  and — no  Samuel  yet!  i  «  v 

Alas !  poor  gentleman  ! 

What  a  sad  thing  to  write  to  her  whose  gentle  heart  is  yet 
more  gentle  than  thine  own — to  her  whose  eye  is  turned  to  thee 
so  imploringly  for  a  single  cheering  word — to  her  whose  every 
letter  back  to  thee  has  but  a  single  line :  Find  him,  find  my 
boy — my  Samuel! 

What  a  sad  thing  to  write  to  those  dear  friends  whose  sym 
pathies  are  with  thee,  whose  prayers  are  with  thee,  whose  hearts 
are  with  thee  and  all  of  thine,  and  whose  every  weekly  missive 


438          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

says  to  thee :  Find  him  •  spend  our  money  like  ivater,  if  neces 
sary,  but  find  him — find  him  ! 

What  wonder,  sir,  if  thy  poor  body  grows  thinner  day  by 
day  ;  what  wonder  if  thy  voice  is  weaker  than  it  was  a  few 
weeks  agone ;  what  wonder  if  thy  step  has  lost  a  little  of  its 
firmness ;  what  wonder  if  the  bald  ring  on  thy  crown  gets  every 
week  a  little  larger  ;  that  of  the  black  and  the  white  in  thy  hair, 
the  white  grows  daily  the  thicker,  the  black,  daily,  the  thinner ; 
what  wonder  if  thy  cheeks  are  paling  and  wasting  beneath  the 
streaming  pressure  of  those  burning  tears  which  well  up,  nightly, 
from  thy  great  parental  heart ! 

Alas  !  poor  gentleman  ! 

What  a  wild,  fitful,  surly  knave  is  Winter !  How  he  roars 
and  howls,  and  screams  and  kicks,  and  fumes  and  yelps,  an J 
snows  and  blows,  the  nearer  he  approaches  to  the  milder  face  of 
green  and  sunny  Spring  !  And  what  a  gallant,  charming  young 
fellow  is  April !  How  he  smiles  rude  old  Winter  off;  bowing 
his  ugly,  treacherous  henchman,  March,  out  of  sight,  with  an  air 
so  full  of  irresistible  assurance,  that  the  grass  comes  laughing 
out  of  the  ground,  the  timid  buds  laugh  open  their  blossoms,  the 
lambs  frisk  laughingly  over  the  fields,  the  birds  chirp  laughingly 
on  the  limbs  of  the  trees,  the  air  brisks  up  into  a  jolly  laugh, 
the  sun  laughs  out  from  its  nook  in  the  sky,  the  earth  laughs  up 
and  calls  to  the  plough  to  join  in  the  fun,  the  bees,  and  the  ants, 
and  the  worms  laugh  out  in  their  great,  broad  hum,  sick  men 
laugh  into  spirit  and  health,  women  laugh  themselves  out  of 
their  houses  into  the  streets,  business  laughs  itself  into  activity  : 
and  all  nature  looks  jolly,  and  joins  in  the  romp  and  the  fun  ! 

"Mirry,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  one  morning,  "let  us  go 
out  and  take  a  walk.  You  are  growing  so  thin  of  late,  that  I 
begin  to  be  alarmed  for  you.  Come,  put  on  your  things.  The 
bracing  air  will  put  new  life  into  you.  Come !" 

A  few  minutes,  and  the  ladies  were  moving  down  Broadway 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         439 

with  a  lively  step  ;  for  it  was  one  of  young  April's  most  comical 
days,  and  he  was  so  full  of  rollicking  mischief,  that  everybody 
out  caught  a  portion  of  his  spirit,  and  felt  like  running,  and 
jumping,  and  racing,  and  laughing,  and  cutting  all  kinds  of  hoy- 
denish  capers.  Old  men  felt  young  again,  and  hopped  about 
like  gay  urchins  at  tag ;  little  boys,  just  escaped  from  the  nur 
sery,  felt  as  big  as  full-grown  men ;  old  women  felt  as  if  they 
had  gone  back  to  childhood,  and  skipped,  and  laughed,  and  frol- 
licked,  as  if  they  believed  it :  and  little  girls  felt  as  if  they  were 
quite  old  enough  to  have  company,  and  giggled  away  in  great 
glee,  like  a  young  miss  anticipating  the  first  visit  of  her  first  beau. 

Mrs.  Townsend  and  her  niece,  carried  away  by  the  bracing, 
exhilarating  atmosphere,  walked  down  as  far  as  the  Park,  and 
then  turned  back,  with  the  intention  of  calling  on  Mrs.  Brigharn, 
on  their  way  home. 

As  they  passed  Broome  street,  on  their  way  up,  Miriam 
started,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  her  companion's  arm, 
exclaimed,  in  a  low,  agonizing  tone,  "  Aunt,  dear  aunt !  who  is 
that  approaching  us  T' 

Mrs.  Townsend  looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  then, 
with  a  countenance  as  livid  as  marble,  seized  her  trembling 
niece  by  the  hand,  and  hurried  her  up  an  adjoining  stoop,  whis 
pering— 

"  Be  firm,  my  dear ;  and  let  us  see  where  he  is  going  !" 

Coming  down  the  street  was  a  poor,  human  thing,  whose 
touching  appearance  arrested  the  attention  of  the  passers-by, 
and  filled  them  with  commiseration. 

Clad  in  a  suit  of  plain,  scrupulously  clean,  yet  threadbare 
black,  was  a  young  man  of  some  twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine 
years,  whom  an  evidently  long  and  fearful  illness  had  reduced  to 
a  mere  shadow.  His  pale,  wan  features,  were  mild,  yet  impres 
sive.  He  carried  over  his  left  arm  a  carefully-folded  overcoat, 
which  the  pleasant  warmth  of  the  atmosphere  had  doubtless  in- 


44:0         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

fluenced  him  to  take  off.  He  walked  slowly,  and  with  an  air  of 
fatigue,  assisted  by  a  rude,  green  stick,  which  he  had  perhaps 
picked  up  at  the  foot  of  some  tree,  on  the  wayside,  and  convert 
ed  into  a  temporary  cane.  His  boots,  together  with  the  extremi 
ties  of  his  pantaloons,  were  dusty  and  soil-worn,  giving  evidence 
that  he  had  been  on  foot  for  some  hours,  and  that  his  journey 
had  commenced  in  the  suburbs :  a  fact  which  spoke  eloquently 
of  the  feebleness  of  his  purse.  He  passed  along  without  notic 
ing  aught  around  him,  and  turned  into  Broome  street,  down 
which  he  moved,  with  the  same  feeble  gait,  in  the  direction  of 
Laurens  street. 

It  was  the  missing  one — Samuel ! 

"  He  is  going  to  Mrs.  Farley's,  I  think,"  observed  Mrs.  Towns- 
end  to  her  niece,  whose  heart  was  throbbing  violently.  "  But ; 
let  us  follow  him,  and  see  !" 

Miriam  made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  on,  with  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  weary  traveller. 

Mrs.  Townsend's  conjecture  proved  to  be  correct.  Samuel 
disappeared  up  the  alley  leading  to  the  laundress's. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Townsend,  "  let  us  at  once  to 
Mr.  Crittenden,  and  inform  him  of  our  discovery.  Nay,  love, 
cheer  up.  Samuel  is  not  so  bad  as  he  looks.  His  innocence 
will  yet  be  made  clear,  and — nay,  don't  tremble  so ;  happiness 
is  not  always  so  distant'  as  we  think.  Cheer  up !" 

Samuel  paused,  faint  and  weary,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  which 
led  to  the  apartments  of  his  humble  friend.  While  recovering 
his  breath  and  strength,  -the  following  hymn  fell  on  his  ear,  sung 
by  a  familiar  voice,  whose  sad  and  occasionally  quivering  tones 
disturbed  the  gentle  spirit  of  the  listener,  whose  forehead  became 
darkened  with  an  air  of  sympathizing  sorrow : — 

11 '  One  we  loved  has  left  our  number 
For  the  dark  and  silent  tomb  ; 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          441 

Closed  his  eyes  in  deathless  slumber — 
Faded  in  his  early  bloom  : 

Hear  us,  Saviour — 
Thou  hast  blessed  the  lonely  tomb. 

Through  its  dark  and  narrow  portal 

Once  they  bore  Thee  to  thy  rest ; 
There  a  ray  of  light  immortal, 

Like  a  sunbeam  from  the  west, 
Burst  the  shadows — 

And  the  grave  thenceforth  was  blest. 

By  the  light  that  thus  was  given 

To  the  darkness  of  the  tomb — 
By  the  blessed  light  of  heaven, 

Gilding  scenes  of  earthly  gloom — 
Star  of  gladness, 

All  our  night  with  joy  illume. 

From  our  circle,  little  brother, 

Early  hast  thou  passed  away  ; 
But  the  angels  say  :  Another 

Joins  our  holy  song  to-day  I 
Weep  no  longer — 

Join  with  them  the  sacred  lay  I'  " 

"  Poor  heart,  poor  heart !"  muttered  Samuel,  "  I  mourn  with 
you,  and  rejoice  with  him  !" 

He  brushed  away  a  tear,  and  slowly  ascending  the  stairs, 
tapped  softly  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Farley  opened  it,  and  started. 
She  was  pale,  and  in  mourning. 

The  young  Christian's  pale,  wan  face  was  clothed  with  a 
cheering  smile. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Farley  ?"  he  said,  extending  his  hand. 
"  Do  you  not  know  me  T 

His  voice — ah  !  how  unlike  to  its  full,  manly  tones  a  few  short 

months  before ! 

19* 


442  WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Why,"  cried  the  laundress,  laughing  and  crying  in  the  same 
moment,  "  it  is  Samuel !  Dear,  dear — I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  ! 
Sit  down  in  the  rocking-chair — it's  got  a  cushion.  My  dear, 
dear  brother — where  have  you  been  ?  I've  been  so  concerned 
about  you !  Dear,  dear — how  sad  you  look  !  Shake  hands 
again — once  more  !  Dear,  dear — I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  !" 

And  the  simple-hearted  laundress  wept  and  laughed  by  turns. 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  see  you,  too,  Mrs.  Farley.  Will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  get  me  a  drink  1  I  am  faint !" 

"  Shall  I  make  you  a  cup  of  tea  ?     It  will  revive  you." 

"  Oh,  no — some  water  will  do.  When  did  Robert  go  T  he 
asked,  after  a  refreshing  draught. 

"  Two  months  ago,"  faltered  the  widow.  "  He  left  a  message 
for  you." 

"Ah1?" 

"  Yes.  '  Mother,'  he  said,  '  tell  Samuel  that  when  I  get  Up 
There,  I  am  going  to  ask  God  and  Jesus  to  let  him  come  up 
right  away,  too.' " 

The  young  Christian  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  inquired — 

"  His  departure — was  it  easy  V 

"  He  closed  his  eyes  with  a  smile,  like  an  infant  after  its  good 
night,  and  fell  asleep.  A  little  while,  and  we  held  a  feather  over 
his  lips,  but  it  stirred  not.  He  was  gone !" 

"Nay,  sister — weep  not.  Rejoice  rather;  for  blessed  are  they 
who  are  early  called !  Your  little  one  is  now  where  rudeness 
cannot  harm,  nor  unkindness  wound,  him — in  the  bosom  of 
Our  Prince !" 

The  laundress  dried  her  tears,  and  looking  at  her  visitor  grate 
fully,  said — 

"  Here  you  are  consoling  me,  when  you  want  yourself  to  be 
consoled !" 

«  Nay— " 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  443 

"  O  don't  tell  me,  Samuel.  I  am  a  woman,  and  can  see  it.  You 
are  in  need  of  nourishment.  You  are  ill,  fatigued,  and  fasting !" 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  better  soon,"  returned  the  young  man,  with  mod 
est  diffidence.  "  I  have  walked  a  long  way  this  morning;  and  as 
I  am  not  very  strong,  it  naturally  shows  itself  upon  me." 

"  How  far  have  you  come  ?" 

"  From  the  foot  of  Sixty-first  Street.  They  brought  me  over  in 
a  boat  from  the  Island,  and  as  my  means  were  very  limited,  I 
thought  I  would  husband  the  little  that  I  had,  and  walk  down. 
Riding  is  expensive." 

"  What  Island  ?"  asked  the  laundress. 

"  BlackwelPs." 

"Why — you  haven't  been  in  the  Penitentiary1?"  cried  the 
laundress,  indignantly.  "Who  dared  to  outrage  you  in  that 
manner?" 

"  No  one,  Mrs.  Farley.  You  know  there  are  other  institutions 
on  the  Island  besides  the  one  for  criminals.  The  Asylum  for  the 
Insane,  for  instance." 

"  And  you  have  been  there,  all  this  time  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Farley.  They  discharged  me  this  morning,  at  my 
own  request,  partly  because  I  was  cured,  and  partly  because  I 
desired  to  return  at  once  to  my  friends." 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got,  Samuel  ?" 

"A  dollar,  only.  They  gave  it  to  me,  to  take  care  of  myself 
with,  until  I  should  hear  from  my  parents.  And  now,"  he  added, 
with  a  timid  smile,  "  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  Mrs.  Farley." 

"  You  mustn't  ask  any  favors  of  me  at  all,  Samuel,"  cried  the 
laundress.  "  You  are  my  brother,  my  guest,  and  my  friend. 
You  have  been  good,  a  hundred  times,  to  me,  and  I  owe  you 
more  than  I  ever  can  repay.  If  you  want  anything  of  me,  ask 
it  freely — and  riot  as  a  favor,  but  as  a  right." 

"  O,  Mrs.  Farley,  you  make  me  very  happy.  I  knew,  I  felt^ 
that  you  would  not  turn  against  me,  because  you  were  one  of  us; 


444         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

and  that  was  what  emboldened  me  to  come  here,  instead  of  going 
to  the  Mayor,  who — so  they  told  me  at  the  Island — would  let 
me  have  money  enough  to  take  me  up  to  Enfield." 

"  To  Enfield  T  said  the  laundress,  in  surprise.  "  To  Enfield, 
in  your  condition  !  Why,  Samuel,"  she  added,  with  equal  frank 
ness  and  feeling,  "  you  would  never  reach  it — I  mean,  alive  !" 

"  That  was  what  I  thought,  too,  Mrs.  Farley,"  returned  the 
young  man,  with  his  usual  diffidence ;  "  and  so  I  said  to  myself, 
'  If  I  see  Mrs.  Farley,  and  tell  her  how  I  am  situated,  both  in 
regard  to  health  and  means,  she  will  perhaps  be  kind  enough 
to  let  me  stay  at  her  house  for  a  few  days,  until  I  get  sufficiently 
strong  to  be  capable  of  enduring  the  journey  home,  and  then  I 
shall  be  in  a  position  to  reward  her  amply  for  all  her  goodness/  " 

"  Why,  Samuel — how  you  talk  !  What  are  you  running  on 
so  for  ?"  said  the  laundress,  sobbing. 

"  I  hope,  Mrs.  Farley,"  said  the  young  man,  apologetically, 
"  that  you  will  not  think  any  harm  of  me  for  what  I  have  said. 
It  was  not  my  intention  to  wound  you.  I  did  not  conceive  for  a 
moment,  when  proposing  that  course,  that  there  would  be  any 
impropriety  in  your  receiving  a  poor,  sick  man,  for  a  few  days. 
I  might  have  thought  so,  but  I  didn't ;  the  idea  never  occurred  to 
me.  But  I  see  it  now,  and  I  entreat  you  to  forgive  me." 

"  O  Samuel — how  could  you — " 

"  Nay,  Mrs.  Farley,  don't  cry  ;  I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  I 
really  didn't.  Now,  don't  cry — don't ;  and  I'll  get  up  and  go 
away,  right  off!" 

"Do  sit  still,  Samuel,"  sobbed  the  laundress.  "It  wasn't 
that,  at  all !" 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Farley,"  continued  her  visitor,  simply,  "  I  am 
a  doomed  man.  A  few  weeks,  or  months,  at  furthest,  and  I 
shall  be  with  my  Prince.  I  am  ill ;  my  body  is  wasting  every 
day ;  I  am  dying- — I  know  it,  feel  it,  and  desire  to  go  home  and 
see  some  hearts  who  are  in  suffering  for  me.  But  I  am  with- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         445 

out  means  in  pocket  and  in  health,  and  before  I  can  go  home  I 
must  first  have  a  little  rest  and  nursing,  to  recruit  my  strength — 
a  little  would  serve  me,  a  very  little  ;  just  enough  to  enable  me 
to  endure  the  jolting  of  the  cars  for  eight  hours,  or  so — the  free 
country  airs  would  do  the  rest :  and  then  I  could  depart  easy — 
for  I  should  die  among  my  kindred." 

"  And  not  a  word  against  his  enemies — not  a  word  against 
those  who  have  brought  all  this  woe  upon  him  !"  mused  the  laun 
dress,  joyfully.  "  O,  how  true  a  disciple  of  his  Lord !" 

"  What  think  you,  Mrs.  Farley  V  asked  the  young  man,  earn 
estly.  "Would  it  be  improper  in  you — a  lone  woman — to 
receive  a  sick  man  for  a  few  days  ?  If  so,  be  frank.  I  would 
not  that  you,  or  any  one,  should  suffer  in  mind  or  name,  for 
lending  a  helping  hand  to  me." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  laundress,  taking  his  hand  and 
pressing  it,  "  if  I  did  not  know  the  simplicity  and  uprightness  of 
your  heart,  I  should  be  inclined  to  think  that  you  were  mocking 
me.  But  enough.  My  home  shall  be  yours,  so  long  as  you  will 
favor  it  with  your  presence.  And  now,  brother,  no  false  delicacy. 
You  are  suffering,  and  stand  in  need  of  nourishment.  Talk  to 
me  as  you  would  to  your  mother  or  your  sister.  Go  into  my 
chamber  and  lie  down  upon  my  bed — I'll  make  up  another  for 
myself,  to-night,  in  this  room.  Be  frank  with  me :  if  you  have 
any  choice  in  food,  say  so  ;  if  you  desire  any  particular  kind  of 
drink,  speak  freely,  and  fear  not  that  either  my  patience,  my 
purse,  or  my  cheerfulness  will  weary.  Now,  then,  lie  down 
and  repose  yourself,  while  I  make  you  some  broth." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Farley — I  thank  you !"  faltered  her  guest, 
faintly.  "  Let  me  lean  on  you  to  the  bed — I  am  so  weak  !"  he 
added,  with  a  wan,  apologetic  smile. 

"  Cheer  up,  Samuel — cheer  up.     You  will  thrive,  yet !" 

As  the  young  Christian  sunk  upon  the  couch,  exhaustion  over 
came  him,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 


446         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Dear— dear !"  murmured  the  laundress,  as  she  set  about  pre 
paring  a  broth,  "  and  that  is  the  man  whom  they  persecute  and 
call  evil  names !  Lord  help  them !" 

She  was  interrupted  in  her  thoughts  by  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 
A  few  moments  later,  Mr.  Crittenden,  the  clergyman,  Mrs. 
Townsend,  and  Miriam,  entered  the  apartment,  crying — 

"  Samuel !     Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  laundress.  "  He  sleeps  !  This  way  — 
softly !" 

Let  us  take  advantage  of  the  young  Christian's  restoration  to 
his  friends,  to  sum  up  the  causes  of  his  sudden  disappearance. 

Upon  leaving  the  Townsends,  Samuel  staggered  off,  with  his 
trunk,  to  a  hotel,  where  he  entered  his  name  upon  the  register, 
and  then  sat  down,  in  his  room,  to  ponder  upon  the  events  of  the 
day.  But  his  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  His  thoughts  were  here, 
there,  everywhere — settling  nowhere.  His  brain  was  like  a 
dark  day  when  the  sky  is  draped  with  vast  masses  of  gloomy, 
solemn  black,  through  which  the  lightning  breaks  and  glides  in 
small  but  frequent  flashes.  So  came  and  went  his  thoughts ; 
brokenly,  hurriedly,  pointlessly — the  first  being  interrupted, 
broken  up,  and  the  fragments  scattered  by  a  second,  which  was, 
in  its  turn,  suddenly  invaded,  shivered,  and  the  splinters  dispersed 
by  a  third,  and  so  on,  till  that  poor  mind  was  like  a  foggy  mid 
night,  with  only  here  and  there  a  street  lamp  breaking  through 
the  gloom. 

At  a  late  hour,  the  watchman  of  the  hotel,  in  making  his 
round,  through  the  lobbies,  was  startled,  while  passing  the  young 
man's  door,  with  a  smothered  cry  of 

"  Help,  Lord— help— help  !" 

The  watchman  paused  to  listen,  but  hearing  no  further  noise, 
he  passed  on,  muttering — 

"  The  poor  fellow  is  having  some  dreadful  dream  !" 

Samuel  did  not  leave  his  room  till  late.     He  was  pale,  ner- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          447 

vous,  and  still  laboring  under  the  pressure  of  a  disturbed  mind. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  in  silent  prayer  somewhat  comforted  and 
tranquillized  him  ;  and  he  descended  to  breakfast :  after  partaking 
of  which,  he  called  at  the  office  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  for  the 
purpose  of  communicating  the  events  of  the  preceding  day  and 
night  to  his  parents. 

"  Your  name  is  Leland,  is  it  not  V9  asked  the  proprietor 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Samuel  Leland  V 

"  Samuel  Leland,  sir." 

"  Late  a  clerk  in  the  dry  goods  house  of  John  P.  Townsend  T 
continued  the  proprietor,  referring  to  a  newspaper  which  lay 
before  him  on  the  counter. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Samuel,  with  a  slight  blush. 

"Well,  Mr.  Leland,"  said  the  hotel-keeper, m blandly,  "the 
Satanic  Chuckle  of  this  morning  has  a  detailed  account  of  your 
affair  of  yesterday ;  and  as  I  am  very  particular  about  the  repu 
tation  of  my  house,  you  will  oblige  me  by  settling  up  and  taking 
yourself  off!" 

Samuel  flushed  to  his  very  temples. 

"  Allow  me  to  look  at  the  article,  sir,"  he  said,  in  an  agitated 
voice. 

The  proprietor  handed  him  the  paper,  and  his  eye  fell  upon 
a  paragraph  commencing  as  follows  :— 

"Another  Pious  Rascal  brought  up  with  a  Hound  Turn — 
Startling  Developments  in  the  History  of  a  Dry  Goods  Clerk — 
A  rich  Sample  of  Rural  Piety — An  accomplished  Hypocrite  nabbed 
at  last. — A  rich  scene  came  off  yesterday  at  the  great  dry  goods 
jobbing  house  of  Mr.  John  P.  Townsend,  where  a  pious  thief,  re 
joicing  in  the  name  of  Samuel  Leland,  but  better  known  under 
the  expressive  sobriquet  of  *  Rural  Piety' — " 

Samuel  could  read  no  more ;  a  dizziness  seized  him,  and  he 
fell,  senseless,  to  the  floor.  He  was  taken  up  and  carried  to  his 


448         WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

room,  where  the  application  of  a  few  restoratives  brought  him, 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  to  a  faint  sense  of  his  situation. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  the  proprietor,  "  we  can't  be  bothered  with 
persons  of  your  sort,  and  I  will  thank  you  to  square  up  and  clear 
out." 

Samuel  paid  his  bill,  and,  leaving  his  trunk  behind  him, 
went  off.  like  one  in  a  dream,  in  quest  of  other  lodgings.  He 
wandered,  without  being  aware  of  it,  into  the  suburbs,  and 
thence  to  a  small  wood,  where,  seating  himself  upon  a  rock, 
he  made  a  fruitless  attempt  to  collect  and  arrange  his  thoughts. 
But  in  vain ;  his  mental  powers  were  already  beyond  his  con 
trol,  and  his  efforts  to  recover  them  were  futile.  The  day  passed 
away ;  night  came :  with  the  night  a  tempest,  and  with  the 
tempest,  rain. 

A  laborer,  while  passing  through  the  wood,  on  the  following 
morning,  came  unexpectedly  upon  the  body  of  a  young  man, 
lying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  He  was  drenched  to  the  skin,  and 
had  evidently  passed  the  night  exposed  to  the  cold  and  the  rain. 

The  laborer  surveyed  the  body  for  a  few  moments;  then 
stooping  down,  he  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  the  breast. 

"  It  still  beats,"  he  muttered,  "  but  feebly.  There  is  life  in 
him  yet,  with  care  and  nursing." 

Help  was  called,  and  the  body  conveyed  to  a  neighboring 
house,  where  the  respectability  of  the  wanderer's  appearance 
secured  him  immediate  attention. 

A  few  hours,  however,  sufficed  to  dampen  the  charitable  ardor 
of  the  family,  who,  upon  perceiving  the  mental  weakness  of  their 
guest,  at  once  lost  all  interest  in  him,  and  gave  him  in  charge 
of  the  public  authorities,  who  removed  him,  with  many  others, 
to  the  Insane  Hospital,  where  it  was  discovered  that,  in  addition 
to  his  lunacy,  he  was  in  the  first  stages  of  a  serious  pulmonic 
disease — the  result  of  his  night  in  the  wrood. 

Mental  darkness  covered  him  for  nearly  three  months,  when  the 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          449 

cloud  passed  away,  and  intelligence  reasserted  its  empire.  Then, 
he  became  conscious  of  his  position,  for  the  first  time.  His  body 
had  wasted,  and  was  wasting,  before  the  consuming  tongue  of  his 
pitiless  disease.  He  conversed  with  his  physician,  and  having 
obtained  from  him  a  statement  of  his  real  condition,  he  firmly 
resolved  upon  making  an  effort  to  reach  EnfiVid  without  delay. 
This  determination  the  physician  endeavored  to  shake,  but  in 
vain. 

"  Why  don't  you  wait  until  you  get  better  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Because,  sir,"  answered  Samuel,  with  a  sad  but  sweet  smile, 
"if  I  wait  till  then,  I  shall  never  see  my  friends  at  all — at  least 
on  earth." 

"  Well,  be  it  as  you  will,"  returned  the  physician.  "  I  see 
there  is  no  use  in  flattering  you.  I  will  attend  to  your  certificate  of 
discharge  at  once." 

Samuel  left  the  Hospital  and  the  Island  the  next  morning : 
we  have  seen  with  what  result. 

The  feelings  of  the  tender-hearted  pastor  upon  beholding  the 
sad  change  in  the  appearance  of  his  beloved  son  may  possibly  be 
imagined,  but  not  described. 

Mr.  Crittenden  and  Mrs.  Townsend  were  visibly  affected. 
Miriam  wept  not  with  her  eyes ;  but  in  her  heart  were  tears  sad 
der  far  than  those  which  were  shed  around  her. 

"  I  must  get  him  to  Enfield  at  once,"  said  the  pastor.  "  A 
mother's  care  alone  will  now  avail  him !" 

"It  will  not  do,"  ventured  Mrs.  Townsend,  shaking  her  head. 
"  He  must  first  have  time  to  gather  strength  for  the  journey." 

"  Wait,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden.  And  he  ran  for  an  eminent 
physician.  The  latter,  on  his  arrival,  remarked,  after  surveying 
the  sleeper  for  a  few  minutes — 

"  He  must  remain  where  he  is.  To  remove  him,  at  present, 
would  be  fatal.  A  few  weeks  of  medical  attendance  and  careful 
nursing  are  indispensable." 


450  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  We  put  him  into  your  hands,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden ; 
"  and  remember  that  he  is  dear  to  us." 

The  physician  bowed,  and  promising  to  call  again  in  a  few 
hours,  when  he  hoped  to  find  his  patient  awake,  he  took  his  de 
parture. 

"  Mrs.  Farley,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  taking  the  laundress  aside 
and  putting  a  small  roll  of  bills  into  her  hand,  "  you  must  give 
up  your  business  for  a  few  weeks,  and  turn  all  your  attention  to 
our  mutual  friend.  I  will  have  some  furniture  sent  to  you,  so 
as  to  enable  you  to  make  the  place  look  cheerful  and  inviting. 
You  know,  Mrs.  Farley,  how  these  things  affect  sick  minds'? 
You  will  want  a  companion,  and  I  think  I  can  find  you  one  with 
whom  you  will  be  pleased.  Now,  go  in  and  talk  a  while  with 
Miss  Selden — I  wish  to  exchange  a  few  words  here  with  our 
other  friends." 

The  laundress  moved  into  the  chamber,  and  Mr.  Crittenden 
called  out  the  clergyman  and  Mrs.  Townsend. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  addressing  them,  "  there  is  one  nurse 
here  whose  presence  at  his  bedside  will  do  more  for  our  dear 
boy,  than  all  the  doctors  in  the  world.  Fair  lady,"  laying  his 
hand  upon  Mrs.  Townsend's  arm,  "  you  know  to  whom  I  refer, 
and  you  will  bear  me  out  in  the  assertion,  that  she  will  worthily, 
faithfully,  and  tenderly  minister  unto  him." 

"  It  is  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Townsend,  looking  at  him  grate 
fully. 

"  Let  me  hope,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Crittenden,  addressing  the 
clergyman,  "  that  you  will  consent  to  this,  and  take  my  word  for 
the  happiness  which  it  will  confer  upon  our  Samuel,  who,  if  he  is 
your  son  by  birth,  is  also  mine  from  this  hour  by  adoption." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  the  proposition,"  returned  the 
pastor ;  "  the  more  so,  as  1  have  long  known  the  state  of  my 
boy's  heart  in  regard  to  Miss  Selden — although,"  he  added,  with 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         451 

a  melancholy  smile,  "I  scarcely  think  that  he  was  himself  aware 
of  the  depth  of  his  attachment." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Leland — thank  you  !"  cried  Mr.  Crittenden, 
heartily.  "  Now,  let  me  say  a  word  to  the  young  lady  herself." 
Then  passing  into  the  other  room,  he  motioned  the  laundress  to 
retire,  and  taking  Miriam,  who  was  pale  and  agitated,  by  the  hand, 
he  said — 

"  My  Mirry — yours  now  the  task  of  nursing  our  dear  Samuel 
back  to  health,  yourself  back  to  happiness.  His  father  and  your 
aunt  have  consented — I  need  not  ask  if  your  own  heart  is  willing  !" 

Miriam  fell,  sobbing,  upon  his  breast. 

"  Cheer  up,  darling — cheer  up,"  whispered  the  silent  partner. 
"  He  has  loved  you  long,  if  silently.  Cheer  up ;  the  clouds  are 
not  always ;  look  forward  to  the  sun,  which  will  yet  shine  for 
you  both !" 

The  clergyman  lost  no  time  in  communicating  to  his  wife  and 
friends  the  glad  tidings  of  his  son's  reappearance.  Three  days 
afterwards,  he  received  the  following  painful  response  : 

"  DEAR  HUSBAND — Love  to  Samuel,  to  whom  I  send  a  thou 
sand  kisses ;  to  Miriam,  to  whom  I  send  a  mother's  affection ;  to 
Mrs.  Farley,  to  whom  I  send  a  mother's  gratitude ;  and  to  Mr. 
Crittenden,  to  whom  I  send  the  warmest  thanks  of  a  mother's 
heart.  But  for  you  and  me,  my  husband,  there  is  naught,  at  this 
'time,  but  affliction.  Our  blind  one  is  no  more.  From  the  hour 
of  his  brother's  mysterious  absence,  his  life  has  hung  upon  a 
thread.  He  but  waited  to  hear  that  he  had  again  been  found,  to 
take  his  departure.  The  intelligence  came,  a  burst  of  joy  escaped 
him,  the  thread  snapped,  and  he  was  gone.  Come  up." 

The  pastor  read  this  letter  with  a  dry  eye.  He  was  in  that 
stage  of  mind  when  the  heart  can  no  longer  weep. 

"  Help,  Lord — help  !"  he  murmured.    "  Woe  presses  upon  me 


452          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

hard,"  he  faltered,  looking  upward  reverently ;  "  but  I  do  not 
murmur,  Lord — no — I  do  not  murmur  !" 

Alas  !  poor  gentleman  ! 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Mr.  Crittenden,  who  read  it  carefully, 
and  then  wrung  the  poor  father's  hand,  in  silence. 

"  My  boy,''  said  the  pastor  to  his  son,  whose  delicate  heart 
comprehended,  by  intuition,  the  cause  of  the  great  grief  which 
was  written  upon  his  father's  face,  "  I  must  leave  you  for  a  brief 
season  to  the  care  of  Miriam  and  Mrs.  Farley.  Mr.  Crittenden 
will  call  and  see  you  every  day  till  my  return.  Adieu !" 

"Adieu,  my  father !"  returned  Samuel,  with  a  faint  smile.  "Bear 
my  love  to  mother,  to  Aunt  Betsy,  and  Ada  ;  and  place  a  flower 
for  me  upon  his  breast !" 

"  How,  my  boy — you  know — " 

"Father,  I  saw  him  last  night  in  a  dream.  He  was  one  of 
many  who  were  clad  in  bright  garments." 

The  pastor  spoke  not.  He  bent  over  his  son,  and  they  silently 
embraced. 

"  Kiss  Miriam,  my  father,"  whispered  the  latter. 

The  clergyman  did  so,  and  then,  pressing  the  hand  of  the  laun 
dress,  tore  himself  away. 

He  returned  in  a  few  days,  accompanied  by  his  wife.  The 
meeting  between  the  mother  and  her  boy  was  delicate  and  touch 
ing.  Mrs.  Leland  embraced  Miriam  as  she  would  a  daughter ; 
Mrs.  Farley  as  a  sister ;  Mr.  Crittenden  as  a  brother. 

Surrounded  by  those  who  knew  and  loved  him,  and  ministered 
to  by  three  such  gentle  hearts  as  his  mother,  Miriam,  and  Mrs. 
Farley,  it  was  no  wonder  if,  in  a  few  weeks,  Samuel  had  so  far 
recovered  as  to  be  able,  with  safety,  to  venture  the  journey  to 
Enfield.  At  length  the  day  was  appointed.  It  came,  and  Samuel 
was  sad,  Miriam  in  tears. 

The  pastor  and  his  wife  exchanged  glances ;  Mr.  Crittenden 
and  Mrs.  Townsend  looked  at  each  other.  All  understood  the 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          458 

cause  of  the  emotions  of  those  two  young  hearts,  and  sympathized 
with  them.  They  would  have  spoken,  but  delicately  refrained, 
out  of  consideration  for  Samuel  himself,  who  was  wrapped  in 
contemplation. 

At  length  he  looked  up,  and  calling  to  Miriam,  who  approached, 
he  said,  taking  her  hands  in  his — 

"  My  Miriam,  you  see  before  you  a  poor  invalid,  who  pines 
to  look  once  more  upon  his  native  hills  and  on  those  old  fa 
miliar  fields  whose  memories  mirror  a  childhood  which  was  one 
lengthened  holiday.  And  yet  I  would  not  go,  and  leave  behind 
in  sadness  a  heart  which  would,  I  know,  rejoice  to  breathe  with 
me  dear  Enfield's  sylvan  airs.  I  have  known  you  long,  my 
Miriam ;  and  loved  you — I  may  say  it  now  without  reproach — 
from  the  hour  when  I  first  heard,  in  the  temple,  the  music  of  your 
voice  singing  of  the  goodness  and  the  glories  of  Our  Prince.  It 
was  on  my  first  Sabbath  in  the  city.  1  have  not  loved  you  less 
since  then ;  and  had  my  fortune  been  but  a  tithe  in  evenness 
with  my  affection,  this  confession  would  have  found  its  way  to 
your  gentle  ear  long  ago.  And  now,  one  word.  Between  us 
and  our  journey,  but  a  single  hour.  Enfield  is  a  pleasant  place, 
and  our  home  a  pleasant  one.  It  is  not  so  gay  as  your  uncle's 
mansion,  but  it  is  as  cheerful,  and  as  happy.  Come,  and  share 
it  with  us.  If  I  were  a  stronger  man,  I  would  say  to  you, 
knowing  as  I  do  the  sweetness  of  your  mind  and  the  goodness  of 
your  heart,  Come,  and  walk  with  me  adown  the  pathway 
to  the  setting  sun.  But  being  of  a  frail  and  feeble  mould — 
one  whose  summer  will  never  behold  an  autumn,  I  can  only  say, 
Come,  and  partake  of  the  love  of  one  whose  heart  is  stronger 
than  his  frame — his  father  shall  be  your  father,  his  mother  your 
mother,  and  his  friends  your  friends." 

Miriam  bowed  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  As  my  wife,  my  Miriam,"  he  whispered. 

A  convulsive  pressure  told  him  that  he  was  understood. 


454          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"  My  father,"  said  Samuel,  with  emotion,  "  we  await  your  bless 
ing,  as  well  as  that  of  our  friends  here,  upon  our  union." 

"  It  is  well,"  returned  the  clergyman.  "  Mr.  Crittenden,  are 
you  content  with  this  1 

"Joyfully." 

"  And  you,  Mrs.  Townsend  1" 

"  Heartily." 

"  And  you,  my  partner  ?" 

"Truly." 

"  Then  stand  up,  my  children.  You,  Samuel  Leland,  do  tender 
to  this  maiden  your  love,  your  sympathies,  your  affections,  your 
confidence,  your  esteem,  your  protection,  and  all  that  you  may 
have  now,  and  all  that  shall  come  to  you  henceforth  of  worldly 
goods,  in  exchange  for  those  of  hers  T' 

"I  do." 

"  Do  you  accept  them,  maiden1?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Shall  ye  be  henceforth  as  one  in  love  and  in  trial,  in  pros 
perity  and  adversity,  in  health  and  in  sickness,  in  joy  and  in  sorrow 
from  this  hour  until  death  shall  step  in  and  sunder  this  solemn 
compact  T 

"  As  one." 

"  Then,  by  virtue  of  my  office  as  a  delegate  from  On  High,  I 
do  pronounce  ye  one ;  and  what  God  hath  joined  together,  let 
no  man  break  asunder.  Bless  you,  my  children  !" 


CHAPTER     XXVIII. 

THE  Brigham  union  was  an  unhappy  one.  Both  were  selfish, 
passionate,  headstrong,  and  unscrupulous.  With  no  innate 
governing  principle  to  give  a  moral  tone  to  their  minds,  and  to 
discipline  their  hearts,  their  union  was  simply  a  Discord. 

Their  wedding  tour  was  everything  but  a  Happiness.  On  their 
return,  they  exhibited  a  cordial  and  hearty  dislike  for  one 
another.  They  were  mutually  fretful,  irritable,  and  disagree 
able.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  they  took  a  large  house  in 
Tenth  street,  and  furnished  it  in  a  style  which  distanced  the 
whole  neighborhood.  What  they  wanted  with  this  big  establish 
ment,  unless  it  was  to  have  ample  room  for  free  fighting,  would 
puzzle  a  wise  head  to  determine.  Once  launched  upon  the  sea 
of  housekeeping,  they  appeared  to  be  mutually  resolved  upon 
keeping  it  in  a  constant  ferment.  For  a  few  months,  they  fared 
sumptuously  upon  elegant  wretchedness.  Their  main  desire 
seemed  to  be  to  render  each  other  as  miserable  as  possible. 
With  this  end  in  view,  they  contrived  to  get  up  a  quarrel  every 
morning  at  breakfast,  every  afternoon  at  dinner, -and  every  even 
ing  at  tea.  Mrs.  Brigham  carried  her  complaints  to  the  Towns- 
ends  and  other  friends ;  Mr.  Brigham  took  his  to  a  neighbor 
ing  saloon,  where  he  buried  them  in  old  Otard  brandy,  which 
he  sipped  from  time  to  time  over  a  cigar,  a  lounging-chair,  and 
The  Satanic  Chuckle. 

This  kind  of  life  could  not,  of  course,  last  forever.  Daily 
irritation  of  proud,  impatient  blood,  for  any  lengthened  season, 
finds  a  period,  sooner  or  later,  in  an  explosion. 

Mr.  Brigham  returned  home  generally  as  disagreeable  as  he 
could  be.  Mrs.  Brigham,  ditto:  and  while  at  home,  they 

(465) 


456  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

amused  themselves  by  tantalizing  each  other  to  the  last  sufferable 
degree. 

One  afternoon,  Mrs.  Townsend  dined  with  them,  and  was  an 
unwilling  witness  of  one  of  their  daily  strifes. 

'"Bel,"  she  asked,  after  Mr.  Brigham  had  taken  his  departure 
in  a  huff,  "  why  don't  you,  for  your  own  sake,  try  to  keep  on 
good  terms  with  your  husband  ?  It  is  better  to  give  way,  now 
and  then,  to  his  ill  humors,  than  to  be  always  quarrelling." 

•*  I  won't  yield  to  him  a  single  inch  !"  returned  Mrs.  Brigham, 
with  a  fierce  curl  of  her  proud  nostril.  "  I  know  him  better  than 
you  do,  aunt.  If  I  should  submit  to  his  imperious  spirit  once, 
it  would  be  all  over  with  me.  I  have  no  choice  except  to  become 
his  ruler  or  Iris  slave — and  that  I  will  never  be  !" 

"  But,  'Bel,  don't  you  see  what  all  tffis  dissension  between  you 
is  doing — how  fatally  it  is  working  ?" 

"  What  is  it  doing  1" 

"  Mr.  Brigham  is  idling  away  his  valuable  time,  when  it  should 
be  employed  in  business  !" 

"  The  trouble  is,  aunt,  he  won't  do  any  business  except  for 
himself.  His  marriage  with  a  lady  of  property  has  rendered 
him  proud,  insolent,  and  ambitious.  He  desires  to  go  into 
business  on  his  own  account." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  laudable  ambition,  'Bel." 

"  Very  true,  aunt ;  but  he  wants  my  money  to  do  it  with,  and 
that  he  shall  never  have  !  My  fortune  is  already  large  enough 
for  both  of  us ;  and  if  he  would  only  behave  himself  and  re 
member  his  place,  I  should  be  perfectly  willing  to  support  him. 
But  I  will  not  peril  my  present  secure  position  in  wealth  and 
society,  by  risking  my  money  in  the  lottery  of  business,  for  forty 
thousand  husbands  !" 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  Brigham  this  ?" 

"  Have  I  ?   Yes — once  a  day  at  least,  for  the  last  four  months." 

"  What  impression  does  it  make  upon  him  1" 


WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          457 

"  None  at  all ;  or  if  any,  it  only  increases  his  insolence  to  me, 
and  his  determination  to  compel  me  to  let  him  have  my  money  ! 
Now,  do  you  blame  me,  aunt  V" 

"  You  will,  of  course,  do  as  you  think  best,  'Bel,"  returned  the 
latter,  who  had  no  disposition  to  commit  herself.  "  I  have  every 
confidence  in  your  judgment,"  she  added,  with  a  significant  smile, 
"  and  I  believe  that  you  know  what  you  are  doing !" 

Mrs.  Brigham  laughed ;  the  ladies  embraced,  and  the  visit 
terminated. 

On  returning  home,  Mrs.  Townsend  found  a  letter  from  Miriam. 
It  was  warm,  affectionate,  yet  sad.  It  represented  that  Samuel 
was  declining  day  by  day  ;  that  he  felt  that  the  hour  of  his  depart 
ure  was  at  hand ;  and  that  he  had  but  one  regret,  viz. :  that  he 
should  be  compelled  to  leave  behind  him  a  tainted  name.  „ 

Mrs.  Townsend  showed  the  letter  to  her  husband,  who  shook 
his  head,  exclaiming — 

"  What  nonsense !" 

"You  still  believe  him  guilty  ?"  asked  his  wife. 

"  Certainly — why  not  1      The  money  was  found  upon  him  /" 

"  But  Mr.  Grittenden  thinks  him  the  victim  of  some  conspir 
acy,  or  of  some  one  who  was  interested  in  his  ruin." 

"  Mr.  Crittenden  is  a  clever  fellow,"  laughed  the  merchant, 
"and,  ever  since  he  took  up  religion,  a  very  charitable  fellow — 
very  charitable-;  but  in  this  matter  his  charity  carries  him  be- 
yorid  common  sense.  Who  could  be  interested  in  Samuel's 
ruin?  He  injured  nobody;  he  stood  in  nobody's  way.  Why, 
then,  should  any  one  conspire  against  him  1  Fudge — fiddle 
sticks  !  There  never  was  a  rascal,  there  never  was  a  criminal, 
who  hadn't  the  same  ridiculous  story  to  tell.  I  went,  some 
years  ago,  with  a  friend,  to  Black  well's  Island,  and  conversed, 
out  of  curiosity,  with  a  number  of  the  jail  birds  there — every 
one  of  whom  was,  according  to  his  own  statement,  not  a  hard 
ened  reprobate,  but— an  « innocent  man,'  and  the  '  victim  of  a 
20 


458          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

black  conspiracy !'  Bah !  When  I  am  robbed  of  money, 
and  lay  a  trap  to  detect  the  thief,  the  individual  upon  whom  I 
find  the  money,  were  he  my  own  brother,  is  the  thief.  That  is 
a  plain  way  of  drawing  correct  conclusions.  As  to  the  fellow's 
antecedents,  I  care  nothing.  All  I  have  to  consider  is,  whether 
the  money  which  1  have  lost  is  the  same  as  that  which  I  find  in  his 
pocket.  If  so,  the  case  is  settled,  and  my  mind  is  made  up. 
That  is  the  way  I  look  at  matters,  and  I  have  always  found  it 
to  be  a  pretty  safe  one !" 

This  was  a  clincher,  and  the  topic  was  dismissed. 

One  afternoon,  about  a  week  subsequent  to  the  foregoing  con 
versation,  Mr.  Brigham  returned  home  a  little  the  worse  for 
temper,  which  was  somewhat  spiced  by  a  recent  familiar  ac 
quaintance  with  French  brandy. 

"  Well,  woman !"  he  demanded,  "  have  you  made  up  your  mind 
yet  what  you  intend  to  do  T' 

"  In  reference  to  what,  sir  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Brigham,  surveying 
him  scornfully. 

"  To  me,  madam — to  me !  Do  you  design  to  let  me  go  into 
business,  or  not  f 

"  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  go  into  business  as  soon  as  you 
please,  Mr.  Brigham  ;  to  cut  as  great  a  dash  as  you  desire ;  and, 
as  you  have  so  often  expressed  it,  to  'give  the  old  house  of 
John  P.  Townsend  a  stout  tug :'  but,"  she  added,  with  a  low, 
mocking  courtesy,  "  not  with  my  money  !" 

"  Have  a  care,  woman !"  crie'd  her  husband,  fiercely.  "  Have 
a  care !  You  don't  know  me !" 

"  O,  indeed !  Mysterious  man !  I  don't  know  you  !  O,  dear, 
you  almost  alarm  me !" 

"  Beware,  madam — beware  !" 

"  The  very  words  the  villains  always  make  use  of  in  the  melo 
drama  !  Mr.  Brigham — why  don't  you  turn  actor !  You  have 
-'  "-*  ' 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  459 

no  idea  how  you'd  bring  the  house  down  with  your  grimaces  and 
your  be-wares  /" 

"  Woman!"  cried  her  husband,  furiously. 

"  Well,  sir.     I  am  a  woman  ;  and  what  then  V 

"  Have  a  care — have  a  care,  I  warn  you  !" 

"O  dear!  Is  that  all]  What  a  disappointment!  I  really 
anticipated  something  rich ;  and  it's  only  a  '  have  a  care !' 
Why,  sir,  I  have  a  care — the  care  of  a  silly  husband,  who  inno 
cently  fancies  that  he  is  a  person  of  sufficient  consequence  to  be 
worth  minding." 

"  Madam !  you  will  yet  mind  me,  be  assured  of  that !" 

"  You  think  you  will  eventually  break  me  in  1  How  you  flatter 
yourself!" 

"  I  do  not  merely  think  so !" 

"  Poor  dolt !  Have  you  the  assurance  to  suppose  that  you 
could  ever  disturb  the  serenity  of  a  person  of  my  intelligence — 
your 

"  I  have  that  assurance,  Mrs.  Brigham  !" 

"  You  make  me  laugh !" 

"  Do  I  ?     See  to  it,  then,  that  I  do  not  make  you  weep !" 

"You  flatter  yourself,  sir.  I  do  not  weep  at  trifles,  and  least 
of  all  for  trifles  like  you  !  Why  don't  you  make  use  of  language 
like  that  to  one  of  your  own  sex  ?  You  would  not  dare.  You 
are  too  much  of  a  coward  !  A  man  would  treat  you,  as  I  shall 
yet  be  compelled  to  call  upon  my  black  porter  to  serve 
you." 

"  How  is  that,  madam  ?" 

"  To  kick  you  out  of  my  house,  sir !" 

The  teeth  flashed  lightnings  at  her. 

"  Madam,  be  warned ;  be  warned,  in  time.  There  is  a  devil 
in  n  \  breast,  which,  once  aroused,  is  not  easily  subdued.  He 
tame  '  a  bolder  spirit  than  yours  once,  as  he  will  in  time  tame 
you,  ii  you  be  not  careful !" 


460         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  You  always  had  a  fine  imagination,  sir  !" 

"  But  the  spirit  to  which  I  refer,  madam,  was  not  a  mere  crea 
ture  of  my  imagination.  You  knew  him  well !" 

"  Some  poor  little  boy  whom  you  used  to  bully  in  your  school 
days,  and  before  the  approach  of  whose  big  brother,  your  own 
equal  in  size,  you  found  it  convenient  to  run !" 

"  I  speak  of  a  man,  madam  !" 

"  Out,  dolt !  You  would  not  dare  to  trifle  with  a  man.  It  is 
not  in  you  ! " 

"  A  man,  I  say ;  a  man,  who  annoyed  me,  threatened  me, 
stood  in  my  way !" 

"  And  you  overthrew  him  ?" 

"  As  certainly  as  I  will  you,  madam  !" 

"  Some  poor  wretch,  who  had  neither  friends,  money,  nor  influ 
ence:  a  broken-down  porter,  worn  out  with  rum  and  hard  labor, 
for  instance  ?" 

"  A  man,  madam  ;  a  man  with  friends  and  influence  ;  one  to 
whom  money  was  as  naught :  a  man  of  mind,  also !" 

Mrs.  Brigham  began  to  think  she  comprehended  her  husband's 
meaning.  She  was  not  certain  of  it,  however ;  but  she  deter 
mined  to  satisfy  herself. 

"  I'll  draw  him  out,"  she  muttered,  musingly.  "  If  it  be  as  I 
fear,  he'd  better  have  hung  himself  than  to  have  breathed  aught 
of  his  villany  to  me !" 

These  thoughts  darted  through  her  mind  like  a  flash  of  light, 
and  without  leaving  any  interregnum  between  her  husband's  last 
remark  and  her  own  reply. 

"  A  poor  man,  doubtless,  for  all  that,"  she  retorted,  "  who,  like 
yourself,  was  fonder  of  the  bottle  than  of  himself;  and  whom 
you,  taking  advantage  of  one  of  his  drunken,  helpless  moments, 
approached  and  struck  a  mean,  dastardly  blow — from  behh-d!" 

"  A  man  of  mind,  madam ;  a  man  who  didn't  drink !" 

"  And  3rou  destroyed  him  ?" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          461 

"  As  I  will  you,  madam,  unless  you  alter  your  tone !" 

"  I'Jl  believe  that,  when  you  give  me  the  man's  name,  and  not 
before  ;  and  that  you  dare  not  do  !" 

"  I  dare  do  more,  madam,  than  you  think !" 

"  There  you  go  again,  braggart !  Give  me  the  name  of  the 
party  whom  you  uprooted  so  effectually,  and  then  I'll  reflect 
upon  my  own  chances." 

"  Samuel  Leland,  madam  !"  hissed  her  husband,  with  an  air  of 
triumph. 

Mrs.  Brigham  dreaded  this  name — expected  it ;  and  yet  when 
it  fell  upon  her  ears,  she  experienced  a  sickness  of  heart  which 
all  the  energies  of  her  will  could  scarcely  resist. 

"  Pooh  !"  she  said,  laughingly,  for  the  purpose,  of  drawing  him 
on,  "  Mr.  Leland  destroyed  himself.  He  stole  his  employer's 
money,  concealing  part  in  the  lining  of  his  coat,  and  part  in  the 
right  pocket  of  his  vest ;  at  least,  so  guardy  told  us  at  dinner, 
on  the  day  of  his  detection  :  and  the  money  was  found  upon  him. 
What  did  you  do  in  the  matter1?  You  simply  helped  in  the 
search.  Any  fool  could  have  done  that !" 

"  Nay,  madam,  I  did  more  than  assist  in  the  search.  I  sug 
gested  it !" 

"  A  dreadful  mark  of  cunning,  indeed  ;  particularly  when  Mr. 
Townsend  had  previously  determined  upon  a  similar  course!" 
laughed  Mrs.  Brigham.  "  Now,"  she  added,  for  the  purpose  of 
sounding  the  villain's  soul,  and  of  testing  the  correctness  of  a  sus 
picion  which  his  words  and  manner  had  generated  in  her  mind,  "  if 
you  had  had  the  daring  genius  to  plan  the  whole  affair,  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  yourself — to  commit  the  robberies,  yourself — to 
watch  your  opportunity,  while  conversing  with  the  miserable 
young  man,  to  drop  one  roll  of  bills  in  the  torn  lining  of  his  coat, 
and  the  other  in  his  vest  pocket — both  of  which  could,  with  some 
adroitness,  be  very  easily  done,  why  then — ** 

"  Then,  madam — "  said  her  husband,  with  a  satanic  smile. 


462  WHICH:   THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"Then,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Brigham,  looking  at  him  with 
affected  uneasiness,  and  purposely  faltering  in  her  tone,  "  I  should 
say  that  you  and  I  had  better  come  to  an  understanding  without 
delay." 

"  What  kind  of  an  understanding,  madam  *?" 

"  First  tell  me  how  much  money  you  need  to  go  into  busi 
ness  ?"  said  his  wife,  somewhat  deferentially. 

"  Ho,  ho !  I've  brought  you  down  a  little,  at  length,  have  I  ?" 

"  Answer  me,  Brigham.  Don't  talk  to  me  in  that  bitter  way. 
You  know  very  well  that  I  don't  like  it.  Why  won't  you  be 
kind  to  me?  I  am  a  woman ;  and  women,  you  know,  love  those 
who  are  good  to  them." 

"Then  set  me  an  example,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  with  a  coarse 
laugh.  "  I  am  an  apt  scholar,  and  pick  up  rapidly." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Brigham  ?  Be  frank.  I  am  a 
reasonable  woman,  if  you  will  only  employ  reason  with  me." 

"  Furnish  me  with  means  to  give  the  old  house  a  stout  tug, 
and  we'll  get  along  well  enough." 

"  But  how  much  do  you  want  1  Don't  say  too  much,  to 
frighten  me,  nor  yet  too  little,  to  restrict  yourself  from  operating 
with  a  free  hand !" 

"  Thirty  thousand  dollars.     Does  that  alarm  yoti  ?" 

"It  is  a  large  sum.  Could  you  insure  success  with  that 
amount  1" 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt." 

"  Well,  that  is  something,  but  not  all." 

"  What  more  ?" 

"  Will  you  promise  to  be  good  to  me,  if  I  let  you  have  the 
money  V 

"  I  give  you  my  word  for  it!     Is  that  security  enough?" 

"I  am  willing  to  take  it.  But  one  thing  more.  Will  you 
give  up  swearing  and  drinking  ?  They  are  horrid  practices,  you 
know!" 


WHICH  :    THE  RIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT  463 

"  I  will  swear—" 

"  No,  don't  do  that !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Brigham,  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looking  up  into  his  eyes  with  an  assumed 
air  of  mingled  confidence  and  generosity.  "  Your  word,  Brig- 
ham — your  simple  word  ! — ought  to  be  enough  for  me  /" 

"  My  word,  then  !"  said  her  husband. 

"  You  give  it  to  me,  solemnly — as  solemnly  as  when  you  affirm 
that  it  was  you  who  planned  and  executed  young  Leland's  ruin  1 
I  guessed  aright  the  way  in  which  you  performed  it,  did  I  not  V 

"  Had  you  seen  me  put  the  gold  pieces  in  the  rolls  •  to  make 
them  sink  to  the  bottom,  and  beheld  me  drop  one  in  the  torn 
slit  in  the  lining  of  his  coat,  and  the  other  in  his  vest  pocket, 
while  we  were  talking  together  and  looking  each  other  in  the 
eye,  in  my  office,  you  could  not  have  comprehended  it  better !" 
he  said,  patting  her  flatteringly  on  the  cheek. 

•'Demon!"  thought  Mrs.  Brigham,  behind  the  confiding  smile 
with  which  she  had  wormed  the  secret  from  the  audacious  wretch. 
"  Thirty  thousand— eh  T 

"  Thirty  thousand,  my  dear." 

"  How  soon  do  you  want  the  money '?" 

"  Right  away,  if  possible." 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Brigham,  rising,  "  I  must  go  up  and  give 
guardy  notice.  Let  me  see" — looking  at  her  watch — "  it  is  four 
o'clock  ;  just  the  time  to  catch  him  at  dinner.  Wait  here  till  I 
return." 

"  Shall  I  send  John  for  a  carriage  7" 

"  O,  no  ;  it's  not  worth  while.     It  is  only  a  step." 

"  I  say,  'Bel,"  cried  her  husband,  rubbing  his  hands  in  great 
glee,  "  won't  it  be  a  rich  joke  to  call  on  old  Townsend,  this 
week,  for  the  money  with  which  to  flog  him,  in  the  way  of  trade, 
next  week  1  Eh  !" 

"  Capital !     Ha,  ha  !"  cried  his  wife,  quitting  the  apartment. 

"  So  /  say.     Ha,  ha  !  ha  !"     ughed  Mr.  Brigham,  throwing 


464  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

himself  upon  the  sofa.  "  There's  nothing,"  he  added,  as  he  re 
covered  from  his  sudden  mirthfulness,  "  there's  noth'ng  like 
bringing  a  \voman  down  a  few  pegs,  especially  when  she  is  as 
fond,  as  'Bel  is,  of  showing  too  high  a  spirit.  Spirit  is  all  very 
well,  in  its  way  ;  but  when  a  woman — and  that  woman  my  wife 
— attempts  to  make  a  display  of  it  upon  me,  she  must  look  out 
for  the  consequences  !  In  future,  we'll  see  who  shall  carry  the 
whip-hand — Mr.  or  Mrs.  Brigham  !" 

And  ringing  the  bell  for  a  match,  the  ex-confidential  clerk  lit 
a  cigar,  and  concluded  he  would  run  out  and  "  take  a  nip"  to  his 
success  in  "  having  broken  Mrs.  B.  in,"  at  last. 

"The  wretch — the  demon  !"  mused  Mrs.  Brigham,  indignantly, 
while  on  her  way  to  the  Townsends'.  "  To  have  cheated  me  out 
of  so  noble  a  husband  as  Samuel  would  have  made  me  !" 

The  lady  was  evidently  quite  confident  that  she  would  have 
won  that  gentleman,  in  time. 

"  He  would  have  been  such  a  splendid  fellow  to  enter  a  draw 
ing-room,  or  a  public  assembly,  with !  So  handsome,  so  elegant, 
so  imposing!  Why,  with  what  a  joy,  what  a  pride,  and  what  a 
satisfaction,  one  would  have  hung  upon  his  arm !  And  he 
would  have  been  mine — mine — all  mine.  But  now — why, 
Brigham  !  what  a  mean,  pitiful  rascal — what  a  contemptible 
orang-outang — you  are,  in  comparison  !  But  you'll  get  your 
deserts  for  your  villany — that's  one  comfort !"  As  she  drew 
near  Fifteenth  street,  she  added,  with  a  merry  twinkle,  "  What 
a  sensation  the  affair  will  make,  when  it  gets  out,  down  town  !" 

Upon  reaching  the  Townsends',  Mrs.  Brigham  laid  before  them 
all  the  particulars  of  the  ex-confidential  clerk's  confession.  The 
merchant  was  thunderstruck  at  the  recital.  Mrs.  Townsend  made 
no  remark :  she  simply  glanced  at  her  husband  with  an  expres 
sion  which  said,  "What  becomes  of  your  positiveness,  now?" 

"  I'll  never  believe  in  my  eyes  again  !"  exclaimed  the  merchant, 
springing  from  his  chair,  and  ordering  his  carriage. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          465 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  trio  were  whirling  down  to  the  store, 
to  lay  the  startling  intelligence  before  the  silent  partner.  The 
latter  listened  to  it  in  silence,  and  then  remarking,  "  I  had  al 
ready  suspected  this  !"  he  left  the  office,  and  calling  the  clerks, 
packers,  and  porters  together,  he  announced  the  news  to  them, 
from  the  platform,  and  requested  them  to  spread  it  far  and  wide. 
Then  bidding  his  partner  and  lady  friends  a  temporary  adieu,  he 
caught  up  his  hat,  and  hurriedly  proceeded  to  the  various  daily 
newspaper  offices,  and  related  the  particulars  to  the  editors.  The 
following  morning,  Samuel's  innocence,  and  the  ex-confidential 
clerk's  guilt,  were  known  throughout  the  metropolis. 

After  seeing  the  editors,  Mr.  Crittenden  bent  his  way  to  Fif 
teenth  street,  and  informed  the  Townsends  of  his  determination 
to  start  the  following  morning  for  Enfield. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  cried  Mrs.  Brigham,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  I  do  so  want  to  see  Mirry !" 

"  And — Samuel !"  thought  her  aunt,  quietly. 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  silent  partner.  "  The  train  starts  at 
yeven.  My  carriage  will  be  at  your  door  at  quarter  past  six." 

"  I'd  like  to  go  with  you,"  observed  Mr.  Townsend ;  "but  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  get  away.  We  have  such  a  press  of  business  !" 

"  Thanks  to  Samuel's  happy  system  !"  added  Mr.  Crittenden. 

Mrs.  Brigham  returned  home  at  nine  o'clock,  and  congrat 
ulated  herself  upon  finding  that  her  husband's  absence  enabled 
her,  with  the  assistance  of  her  maid,  to  make  the  needful  prepa 
rations  for  the  morrow's  journey.  Then  feeing  the  attendant  with 
a  half  eagle,  she  bound  the  latter  to  secrecy,  and  ordering  her  to 
call  her  at  five,  she  retired  to  rest. 

The  ex-confidential  clerk  let  himself  in,  by  the  aid  of  a  latch 
key,  about  two  hours  after  midnight.  His  step  was  unsteady, 
his  manner  maudlin,  and  his  mind  stupefied  with  brandy  and  cigars. 
He  groped  his  way  to  bed,  and  was  soon,  to  all  appearance,  as 
lifeless  as  a  log. 

20* 


466          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

He  awoke,  dull,  heavy,  and  irritable,  about  noon. 

"  Where  is  your  mistress  ?"  he  demanded  of  the  maid. 

"  Gone  out." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Dull  head  !  what  do  you  know  1" 

The  girl  made  no  reply. 

After  dispatching  his  breakfast,  the  ex-confidential  clerk  went 
out  for  a  walk ;  stepping  in  at  a  saloon  for  a  morning  "  drink," 
to  tranquillize  his  nerves,  on  the  way. 

While  proceeding  down  town,  he  met  and  bowed  to  a  com 
mercial  acquaintance,  who  passed  on,  however,  without  returning 
his  salute. 

"  What's  up  now  T'  muttered  Mr.  Brigham,  in  surprise.  "  The 
fellow  must  have  seen  me  !" 

As  he  approached  the  Astor  House,  he  encountered  Charley 
Gibbs. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Charley?"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  to  that 
young  gentleman. 

"  Excuse  me  !"  returned  the  latter,  stepping  aside.  "  I  am 
particular  in  my  acquaintance  !"  And  he  passed  on. 

The  ex-confidential  clerk  was,  for  a  few  minutes,  irresolute.  He 
was  half  inclined  to  follow  the  young  man  and  demand  an  ex 
planation.  But  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  then  continued  his 
walk.  A  few  minutes  brought  him  to  Liberty  street,  and 
muttering,  "  I'll  step  in  and  take  a  look  at  the  old  house,"  he 
suddenly  found  himself  face  to  face  with  our  old  acquaintance,  Bill 
Bradley,  the  packer,  who  was  on  his  way  to  a  restaurant. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Bill  ?"  he  said,  extending  his  hand,  patroniz 
ingly.  "  Excuse  my  glove  !" 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  packer,  starting  back  a  single 
step,  and  eyeing  the  ex-confidential  clerk  from  head  to  foot,  with 
insulting  scorn. 


WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          467 

"  This  rudeness  is  intentional !"  thought  Mr.  Brigham,  crimson 
ing  to  his  temples.  "What  can  it  mean  f'  Then  addressing 
himself  to  the  packer,  he  said,  haughtily,  "You  are  impudent, 
fellow  !  Stand  out  of  my  way,  or  I'll  cane  you  !" 

"  You'll  do  w-h-a-t  T  cried  the  packer,  rolling  up  his  cuffs. 

"  Cane  you!"  repeated  the  ex-confidential  clerk. 

But  he  had  scarcely  uttered  the  threat,  when  a  quick,  heavy 
blow  from  the  fist  of  the  stalwart  packer  precipitated  him  into 
the  mud.  Wild  with  rage,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  advanced, 
with  uplifted  stick,  upon  his  opponent,  when  the  fist  of  the  latter 
smote  him,  like  a  sledge-hammer,  between  the  eyes,  and  sent 
him,  whirling  and  staggering,  back  again  into  the  slush. 

"  You'll  try  it  agin,  won't  yer  "?"  said  the  packer,  tauntingly,  as 
Mr.  Brigham  rose  to  his  feet  once  more,  and  measured  the  huge 
proportions  of  his  enemy.  "  I  wish  yer  would.  I  like  it,myself !" 

The  teeth  of  the  ex-confidential  clerk  fairly  screeched  with 
rage ;  but  their  owner  did  not  condescend  to  make  any  remark. 

"  I  give  yer  notice,"  said  the  packer,  shaking  his  brawny  fist 
in  the  creature's  face,  "  that  yer  must  never  appear  in  Liberty 
street  any  mo-ar,  while  I'm  in  it ;  'cause  if  you  do,  I'll  lam  you. 
Now,  mind !  We're  very  pertickler  about  the  safety  of  pror- 
pertee  down  this  way,  and  we  don't  like  the  smell  of  thieves ! 
Come,  move  /" 

Boiling  with  rage  and  humiliation,  his  face  and  linen  covered 
with  blood,  his  clothes  begrimed  with  filth,  Mr.  Brigham  hailed 
a  passing  cab,  and  muttering  to  the  packer,  "  You'll  hear  from 
me  again,  sir !"  he  sprang  into  the  vehicle,  and  was,  the  next 
minute,  gnashing  his  teeth  with  madness,  and  on  his  way  to 
Tenth  street.  On  arriving  at  his  own  door,  he  threw  the  cabman 
a  piece  of  gold,  hurried  into  the  house,  renewed  his  toilet,  and 
then,  lighting  a  cigar,  sat  down  to  compose  the  wild  tempest  i& 
his  blood.  He  had  scarcely  seated  himself,  when  he  descried  a 
package  upon  his  dressing-table.  Upon  opening  it,  he 


468          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

beheld  a  note  addressed  to  himself,  and  a  number  of  newspapers. 
The  former  read  as  follows  : — 


"  MR.  BRIGHAM  : — I  send  you  the  city  journals  of  this  morning, 
trusting  that  you  will  find  in  them  food  for  reflection. 

"JOHN    P.    TOWNSEND." 

"  Short,  and  to  the  point !"  muttered  the  ex-confidential  clerk, 
with  a  trembling  lip.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  1  Can  that  wo 
man  have  betrayed  me  ?  If  so — " 

Tearing  open  The  Satanic  Chuckle,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  marked 
article  with  the  following  caption : — 

"A  PRECIOUS  KASCAL  —  ASTOUNDING  DEVELOPMENTS  —  THE 
TABLES  TURNED  —  RURAL  PIETY  ALL  RIGHT  —  EXCITEMENT  IN 
LIBERTY  STREET — A  PROMISING  CANDIDATE  FOR  SING  SING." 

Then  followed  a  long  detailed  description  of  the  ex-confidential 
clerk's  plan  for  the  destruction  of  the  young  Christian,  the  man 
ner  of  its  accomplishment,  the  results  of  that  plan  to  the  victim, 
the  confession  of  the  ex-confidential  clerk  himself,  whose  general 
character  was  delineated  with  a  free  pen,  and  a  gentle  recom 
mendation  to  the  press  throughout  the  Union  to  copy  the  article, 
and  "  give  the  rascal  all  the  notoriety  he  deserved." 

Mr.  Brigham  dropped  the  paper,  and  sunk  back  in  his  chair 
perfectly  livid. 

"  So,"  he  muttered,  "it's  all  out!  The  traitress  has  revealed 
all ;  the  papers  have  got  hold  of  it,  and  I  am  a  ruined  man ! 
This  accounts  for  my  treatment  in  the  streets  to-day." 

He  rose,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  paced  the  apartment  in  fever 
ish  excitement.  At  length,  he  opened  his  trunk,  and  taking  out 
a  revolver,  which  was  already  charged  and  capped,  he  raised 
the  threatening  tube  to  his  ear,  and,  with  his  finger  on  the  trig- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          469 

ger,  paused  for  a  few  moments,  irresolute.  Then  withdrawing 
the  weapon,  and  muttering — 

"  No — not  yet.  Cowards  only  sink  before  the  tempest.  I'll 
brave  it  out !" 

He  laid  the  revolver  upon  the  dressing-table,  and  paced  the 
room  again. 

"Wait  till  the  traitress  returns,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  mean 
ing  smile,  "and  then  I'll  give  these  newspapers  food  for  another 
and  a  somewhat  different  article  !" 

But  a  week  flew  by,  and  the  wish  of  the  ex-confidential  clerk 
was  as  yet  ungratified  :  the  traitress  had  not  yet  come  back. 

Brigham  fumed  and  drank,  fretted  and  drank,  swore  and 
drank  ;  but  neither  fuming,  fretting,  swearing,  nor  Otard  brandy 
had  any  effect.  The  lady  still  remained  abroad.. 

He  questioned  the  maid ;  but  the  half-eagle  had  been  before 
him,  and  his  interrogatories  resulted  in  nothing. 

"Can  she  have  deserted  me?"  he  muttered.  "Perhaps,  like 
many  of  her  kind,  she  has  gone  off  with  somebody  else  !" 

His  brow  darkened  at  the  thought,  and  a  green,  ugly  feeling 
commenced  working  in  his  breast. 

The  following  evening  he  proceeded  to  the  Townsends,'  but  did 
not  find  them  at  home. 

"  When  will  they  return  ?"  he  asked  of  the  girl,  the  porter 
being  absent. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  you  can  guess,"  he  said,  sharply. 

"  Guessing  is  not  one  of  my  duties." 

"  You  are  impertinent !     How  long  have  they  been  gone  ?w 

"Two  days." 

"  Umph  !     Is  Mrs.  Brigham  with  them  T' 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Brigham." 

"  When  was  she  here  last?" 

« I  can't  say." 


470         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 


"  You  have  been  put  up  to  this  insolence,  minx !"  said  Brig- 
ham,  fiercely.  "  But  it  won't  answer  with  me,  I  warn  you ! 
My  wife!"  he  added,  with  a  furiousness  which  made  the  girl 
tremble.  "  My  wife,  I  say  !  where  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is  not  here,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  faltering  tone.  "  She 
went  away — to  the  country — some  days  ago." 

"To  the  country!  To  what  part]  The  place — name  it. 
Quick,  or  I'll  throttle  you !" 

"  To— to— " 

"Where — where  ?"  shouted  the  man,  reaching  cut  his  arm  as 
if  to  carry  his  threat  into  effect. 

The  affrighted  girl  drew  back,  and  stammered,  or  rather 
screamed — 

"ToEnfield!" 

Brigham  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  His  flushed  cheek 
became  livid.  His  eyes  rolled  in  their  sockets  like  the  green 
glittering  orbs  of  a  serpent.  His  teeth  gnashed  as  if  each  was 
instinct  with  human  rage  and  power ;  the  two  rows  appeared 
to  the  startled  fancy  of  his  auditor  as  if  they  were  severally 
leaping  from  their  cavities,  and  swearing,  tearing,  and  rioting 
like  enmaddened  drunkards.  .  * 

Brigham  was  no  longer  in  the  semblance  of  a  man,  but  in  that 
of  a  demon. 

"Aye,"  he  cried,  or  rather  roared,  "with  that  rascal,  Leland. 
But  I'll  teach  the  brazen  creature  a  lesson.  As  for  him — " 

He  started,  and  rushed  from  the  room  and  the  house,  without 
finishing  the  sentence. 

He  darted  home  ;  ordered  a  servant  to  go  and  procure  him  a 
bottle  of  wine ;  summoned  her  back,  and  bade  her  bring  him 
"  two,  three — half  a  dozen,  and  not  of  wine,  but — brandy  !" 

He  wore  away  the  night,  and  started,  at  daybreak,  with  a 
revolver  in  his  breast,  and  a  valise  in  his  hand,  for  the  railroad. 
He  reached  the  depot  an  hour  too  soon — breakfasted  at  a 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  471 

neighboring  restaurant,  and  at  length  found  himself  rattling  offj 
with  lightning  speed,  to  his  destination. 

The  monotonousness  of  the  ride,  added  to  his  broken  night, 
lulled  him  in  an  hour  into  a  nap.  He  awoke  again,  but  unre- 
freshed  ;  his  nerves  were  on  edge,  his  temper  furious. 

Fortunately,  he  was  alone.  Had  another  shared  his  seat,  there 
might  have  been  an  altercation — a  quarrel — a  murder.  For  the 
ex-confidential  clerk  carried  a  revolver  in  his  breast — each  tube 
loaded  to  the  muzzle — and  was  capable  of  everything. 

As  it  was,  the  passengers  viewed  him  with  uneasiness.  They 
had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  mad.  "  He  acted  so  strangely,  and 
had  such  a  tiger-like  mouth  !" 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  that  they  at 
length  beheld  him  catch  up  his  valise  and  retire  from  the  car. 


CHAPTER     XXIX. 

IT  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  Brigham  reached 
Enfield.  He  entered  its  solitary  inn,  registered  his  name,  and 
then  called  for  dinner,  which  was  promised  him  in  a  few  minutes. 
While  the  meal  was  in  course  of  preparation,  he  stepped  up  to 
the  bar,  and  uttered  a  single  word,  in  a  sharp,  dry  voice — 

"  Brandy  !" 

The  host  shook  his  head,  with  a  smile. 

"  We  don't  keep  articles  of  that  nature  in  Enfield,"  he  said. 

Brigham  bit  his  lip,  and  muttering  a  half-uttered  curse,  turned 
to  the  register,  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  arrivals. 

The  list  was  small.  It  was  plain  that  Enfield  was  not  favored 
with  very  many  travellers.  But  small  as  was  the  list,  there 
were  names  in  it  which  caused  the  reader  to  start. 

The  host  eyed  his  new  guest  with  mingled  mistrust  and 
dislike.  The  appearance  of  the  latter  was  by  no  means  in  his 


472  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

favor.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot — his  cheeks  flushed  with  a 
sickly  glow — his  teeth  were  raving — his  linen  soiled — and  his 
clothes  dusty  and  crumpled.  He  had,  as  the  reader  is  already 
aware,  slept  in  them  in  the  cars.  But  that  was  not  all.  He  had 
rolled  and  slept  in  them  throughout  the  preceding  night. 

"This  fellow  is  a  rascal!"  thought  the  landlord.  "I  must 
watch  him !" 

The  names  which  caused  the  new-comer  so  much  concern 
were  those  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Townsend,  Mr.  Crittenden,  and  Mrs. 
Brigham. 

"Are  these  people  putting  up  here?"  he  demanded,  somewhat 
fiercely,  of  the  host. 

"  They  are,"  answered  the  latter.     "  What  then  ?" 

Brigham  did  not  reply.  He  was  confused.  He  asked  him 
self  what  they  were  doing  in  Enfield,  and  could  not  answer  the 
question.  He  turned  to  the  register  again,  and  noticed  that  his 
wife  and  Mr.  Crittenden  had  arrived  three  days  in  advance  of  the 
Townsends.  What  did  that  mean  1 

He  was  disturbed  in  his  revery  by  the  announcement  that  the 
meal  which  he  had  ordered  was  ready. 

He  followed  the  servant  into  the  dining-room  like  one  in  a 
dream. 

As  he  quitted  the  bar,  the  host  ran  to  the  register  to  discover 
the  name  of  his  ill-favored  guest.  As  he  glanced  at  the  list,  he, 
too,  started.  Then  going  to  the  door,  he  beckoned  to  three 
young  men  who  were  standing  near  the  entrance  of  the  village 
store,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  The  latter  approached, 
and  entered  the  inn. 

"  What  is  it,  Tom  ?"  they  asked. 

"Look  here.  Read  this  name,"  replied  the  host  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  pointed  to  the  register. 

It  would  appear  as  if  no  one  could  look  upon  the  list  without 
starting. 


WHICH  :  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         473 

As  each  of  the  young  men  read  the  name  of  the  new-comer, 
they  fell  back  in  surprise,  and  looked  at  one  another  indignantly. 
Their  hands  rolled  up  involuntarily  into  balls,  so  that  they  were 
no  longer  hands,  but  fists. 

"  Where  is  he  V  one  of  them  asked  at  length,  with  an  eye 
that  portended  mischief. 

"Taking  dinner,"  replied    the    host.     "But  what    then? 
wouldn't  disturb  him." 

"  Wait !''  said  the  other,  turning  to  his  companions.  The  trio 
whispered  together  a  few  moments.  They  appeared  to  be  form 
ing  some  plan. 

The  landlord  suspected  the  tenor  of  their  conversation,  but 
did  not  permit  it  to  appear.  In  fact,  he  was  himself  betraying 
signs  of  a  pugnacious  spirit ;  that  is  to  say,  his  eyes  were  slow 
ly  firing  up.  his  blood  was  mounting  by  degrees  to  his  temples, 
and  his  knuckles  were  itching  to  hit  somebody  or  something. 

The  young  men  having  brought  their  conference  to  a  close, 
the  former  speaker  turned  to  the  host,  and  said,  in  a  low,  cau 
tious  tone — 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  the  fellow.     We'll  be  back  presently  !" 

The  landlord  said  nothing ;  he  did  not  even  nod.  But  his  eye 
and  lip  were  eloquent. 

The  young  men  then  retired — not  openly  and  boldly,  as  when 
they  entered,  but  lightly,  carefully,  as  if  fearful  of  being  over 
heard.  Once  outside  of  the  inn,  they  darted  off — each  taking  a 
different  direction,  and  all  running,  as  if  upon  a  mission  in  which 
their  hearts  had  an  equal  interest  with  their  heels. 

In  half  an  hour,  the  major  part  of  Enfield  was  in  motion. 
The  roads  were  alive  with  indignant  pedestrians,  all  running 
towards  the  village,  and  halting,  as  they  reached  it,  in  front  of, 
and  around,  the  inn. 

When  the  ex-confidential  clerk  returned  to  the  public  room, 
he  was  somewhat  surprised. 


474         WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  apartment  was  thronged  with  young,  vigorous  men, 
whose  threatening  countenances  were  fixed  upon  himself. 

Loud  murmurs  greeted  his  entrance,  and  as  he  looked  around 
him  for  an  explanation  of  what  it  all  meant,  a  rude  hand 
from  behind  suddenly  forced  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes.  Before 
he  could  recover  himself,  a  stout  grasp  was  upon  his  collar — 
three  quick  kicks  were  given  him  from  behind — a  shower  of 
stunning  blows  fell  upon  his  head,  breast,  and  shoulders,  and 
amid  discordant  cries  of,  "Give  it  to  him," — "Gibbet  the  ras 
cal" — "  Don't  hurt  him  ;  march  him  out  of  town,  but  don't  hurt 
him," — "Cowskin  the  wretch," — the  ex-confidential  clerk  was 
dragged  from  the  inn,  despite  his  struggles,  and  thrown,  like  a 
bundle  of  wild  carrion,  upon  a  dung-heap,  in  the  rear  of  the 
house. 

"  There !"  cried  a  stalwart  youth,  K  lie  there  !  That  is  the 
only  proper  lodging-place  for  things  of  your  breed.  Lie  there 
till  morning ;  then  get  you  gone,  or  we'll  send  you  off  on  a  rail, 
and  with  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers !" 

Brigham  looked  up,  glaring  like  a  wild  beast.  For  a  moment, 
owing  to  the  severe  treatment  which  he  had  undergone,  he  could 
scarcely  stir.  Rage,  however,  speedily  re-ennerved  him,  and, 
springing  to  his  feet,  he  surveyed  the  fierce  throng  with  a  blazing 
eye.  His  teeth  bristled  like  so  many  angry  mastiffs  making 
ready  for  a  spring. 

"  Devils !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  thick,  but  unwavering  voice,  "  if 
you  want  my  life,  you  shall  not  have  it  without  an  effort.  You 
took  me  by  surprise,  and  have  hurt,  but  not  conquered  me. 
Clowns  !  think  you  to  subdue  a  MAN  thus  easily  ?  Learn  better." 

As  he  spoke,  he  plunged  his  hand  into  his  breast,  and  drawing 
forth  a  revolver,  presented  it  at  the  crowd. 

"  Give  me  way !"  he  cried,  "  or  your  blood  shall  flow  like 
vrater.  Give  me  way  !" 

He  took  a  step  forward,  to  run  down  the  dung-heap,  when  a 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          475 

tall  form  closed  in  upon  him  from  behind,  and  adroitly  pressing  in 
his  arms,  precipitated  him  to  the  earth.  As  he  fell,  his  pistol 
went  off,  and  the  ball,  owing  to  the  sudden  direction  which  had 
been  given  to  his  hand,  lodged  in  his  left  arm,  between  the  elbow 
and  the  wrist,  shattering  the  bone,  and  splitting  it. 

"Let  him  up— let  him  up!"  cried  a  hundred  voices.  "He 
hasn't  hurt  anybody  but  himself!" 

Notwithstanding  the  excruciating  agony  of  his  wound,  the  ex- 
confidential  clerk  was  upon  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and  glaring  like 
a  wild  boar  at  the  crowd. 

"  There  are  five  balls  left !"  he  shouted.  "  Since  you  wish  them, 
you  shall  have  them  !" 

But  again  the  same  crushing  form  was  upon  him,  and  again  he 
fell,  overpowered,  to  the  earth — retaining,  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
drowning  man,  his  weapon,  which  this  time  did  not  go  off. 

"  Let  him  up — let  him  up !  He  is  a  brave  fellow,  after  all. 
Let  him  up,  and  give  him  a  chance,"  cried  fifty  voices  in  a  breath. 

Brigham  wormed  himself,  like  a  snake,  out  of  the  grasp  of  his 
powerful  antagonist,  and  then,  with  a  fierce,  sudden  spring,  broke 
through  the  throng,  which,  partly  from  terror  of  his  ugly  weapon, 
and  partly  from  admiration  of  his  high  courage,  opened  before 
him,  and  away  he  sped,  like  a  hunted  boar,  followed  by  the  major 
part  of  the  crowd. 

Across  the  road — a  leap — over  the  fence — across  a  field — a 
leap — across  another  field — a  leap,  and  out  upon  the  main  road. 
A  temporary  halt — the  fugitive  looking  up  the  road,  down  the 
road,  across  the  road,  everywhere,  for  shelter — finding  it  nowhere. 

But  little  time  for  thought,  or  decision.  His  pursuers  are  be 
hind,  but  hard  upon  him.  Down  the  road,  which  stretches  im 
measurably  away,  with  but  now  and  then  a  house  to  break  the 
monotony  of  its  stretch — and  with  no  friendly  copse  or  wood 
into  which  one  might  plunge  —  down  the  road  are  fifty  forms 
making  with  all  speed  for  the  village,  to  join  their  fellow-towns- 


476         WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

men  in  punishing  the  demon  who  has  wrought  so  much  woe  to 
hearts  that  never  harmed  him  ;  up  the  road,  thirty — forty  it  might 
be — who  have  sprung  from  the  fields  to  head  him  off,  and  who 
are  bearing  down  upon  him  like  avengers ;  behind  him,  a  hundred 
others,  whose  fleet  limbs  are  bringing  them  nearer  and  closer 
each  succeeding  moment ;  before  him,  across  the  road,  a  farm 
house,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence  five  stalwart,  fierce- 
browed  men,  each  with  a  pitch-fork  in  his  grasp,  and  daring  the 
fugitive  to  advance. 

The  hunted  man  looks  up  the  road,  descries  the  inn,  and  boldly 
resolves  to  reach  it,  or  perish  in  the  effort. 

In  flight  again — every  nerve  strained' — his  nostrils  lapping 
up  and  down,  with  passion,  ardor,  and  high  resolve — his  wild, 
expressive  teeth  launching  lightnings  at  all  in  his  path — his 
poised  weapon  warning  them,  as  they  love  their  lives,  to  beware 
how  they  impede  him  on  his  way. 

Three  hundred  yards  at  best  lie  between  him  and  the  inn- 
three  hundred  yards  :  no  more. 

He'll  get  over  them — yes — keep  up,  brave  heart,  and  he'll 
soon  get  over  them.  What  are  twenty  or  even  thirty  men 
against  a  single  one,  like  him,  whose  blood  is  up,  whose  high 
resolve  is  taken,  and  whose  spirit  is  as  resistless  as  that  of  proud, 
relentless  death?  Twenty  or  thirty  men1?  Mere  nothings — 
wooden  things  at  best.  Keep  up,  O  heart !  keep  up,  while  we 
dash  on  and  win. 

These  thoughts  darted  like  flashes  of  light,  through  his  brain, 
as  the  fugitive  sped  forward. 

On — on — like  a  heroic  Fury,  he  swept ;  onward,  through  the 
score  who  threw  themselves  in  knots  of  threes  and  fives  before 
him,  but  only  to  break,  or  fall  like  staggering  drunkards,  as  the 
fugitive  dashed  through  them,  over  them,  and  scattering  them 
like  sheep — reserving  his  fire,  like  a  subtle,  desperate  man,  to 
maintain  himself  when  he  once  should  reach  the  inn. 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  CR  THE  LEFT.         477 

Keep  up,  O  heart — keep  up.  Nerves  be  again  as  steel,  for 
here  are  seven  to  dispute  with  us  the  road.  Ha !  well  done,  shoul 
ders,  well  done,  fist — for  three  of  the  dogs  are  rolling  on  the  earth, 
spinning  like  schoolboys'  tops  at  play,  and  the  others  are  behind. 
Ha  !  ha !  who'll  try  us  next1? 

Ten  more  have  leaped  the  fence,  "designing  to  head  him  off — 
but  three  of  them  are  down,  and  two  others  falling  over  them. 
But  five  remain,  and  they — are  now  behind.  Ha  !  ha  ! 

"  But  fifty  yards  now  between  us  and  the  inn.  We'll  soon 
be  there.  Ha  !  ha !  Let  who  will,  hunt  down  a  determined 
man.  But  fifty  yards — we  have  passed  five  of  them  already. 
Ha !  ha !  Brave  sport — brave  sport !  Let  come  on,  who  will : 
for  now  not  more  than  forty  yards  between  us  and  the  inn  P 

But  a  cloud  leaps  over  the  fence  and  rises  in  the  road :  "  The 
giant  who  dragged  us  from  the  bar,  who  hurled  us  on  the  barn 
yard  heap,  who  pressed  our  arms  and  crushed  us,  causing  us  a 
mangled  limb,  as  we  set  out  to  leave  the  heap.  He  alone,  of 
all  the  crowd,  our  conqueror ;  but  conquer  us  again,  nor  any 
other  living  creature,  shall  he — nor  now,  nor  evermore  !" 

A  pause — a  snap — and  a  sharp,  quick,  loud  report. 

Is  the  giant  down  ?  No.  But  advancing  with  a  laugh.  The 
ball  has  missed  its  mark.  Curses — curses  ! 

Oh  !  to  be  so  near,  and  yet  not  reach  the  inn. 

Oh !  to  make  so  great,  so  glorious  a  head  against  full  forty 
men,  and  be  taken  by 'a  single  one  at  last. 

Oh  !  to  be  captured  by  him  whose  spirit  we  feel  to  be  BRAVER 
than  our  own. 

Oh !  to  be  caught  by  him — him  of  all  the  crowd ! 

The  stout  heart  fails  at  last.  The  legs,  till  now  so  dry,  and 
brave,  and  wiry,  grow  moist  and  tremulous,  as  the  giant  comes 
up  with  outstretched  arms — as  if  the  physical  part  knew  as  well 
as  the  mental  part,  when  bolder  blood  than  its  own  draws  nigh, 
The  defiant  eyes,  ere  while  so  bright  and  flashing,  have  lost 


478  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

their  strength,. their  vim,  and  wax  confusedly  weak,  watery,  and 
dim.  The  hidden  will,  even,  falters  like  the  rest.  The  invisible 
mind,  before  so  clear,  and  sharp,  and  subtle,  becomes  misty, 
fleecy,  and — 

The  laughing  giant  grasps  him  by  the  collar !  The  giant  is  his 
fate. 

"Come!" 

And  he  is  dragged  along,  his  legs  trailing  over  the  road,  as  a 
butcher  might  haul  the  skin  of  a  calf,  of  a  cow,  or  a  bull ;  his 
wounded  arm  bleeding  and  hanging,  nerveless,  down,  like  a 
pendant,  fluttering  stick  ;  back  to  the  barn-yard  in  the  rear  of 
the  inn,  and  with  a  "So,  you  will  play  your  capers  on  men  like 
our  Samuel,  hey  1"  thrown  again,  like  a  mean,  pitiful  thing,  upon 
the  smoking  dung-hill,  and  left  there. 

To  die?  No  !  That  was  the  first  thought  of  young,  indignant, 
and  partially  inconsiderate,  blood.  But  now  that  the  first  im 
pulsive  outbreak  of  wrath  was  come  and  gone — now  that  the 
wretched  game  was  quarried,  reason  came  back,  and  with  it  bet 
ter  thoughts. 

"  Vengeance  is  mine  !  saith  the  Lord  !"  said  a  rebuking  voice, 
which  came  from  the  lips  of  an  old  man — a  sturdy  veteran  in 
righteousness. 

Young  blood  bowed  to  the  Scripture.  Not  a  man  attempted 
to  justify  his  share  in  the  transaction.  The  giant  himself  was 
mute  with  shame. 

"Take  him  up,"  said  the  veteran,  in  the  same  stern  tone; 
"  take  him  up,  and  run  one  of  you  for  the  doctor." 

"I'll  do  that;  mine  are  the  longest  legs,"  said  the  giant,  strid 
ing  like  a  Colossus  from  the  barn-yard,  to  the  main  road,  down 
which  he  swept,  despite  of  his  immense  size,  with  the  speed  of  an 
antelope. 

He  returned  ere  long  with  the  village  doctor — a  short,  slender 
personage,  with  a  mild,  genial  countenance — upon  his  shoulders, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          479 

and  set  him  down  at  the  door  of  the  inn  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  a 
bag  of  wheat,  and  not  a  learned  disciple  of  Galen.  But  as  the 
action  elicited  no  remark  from  the  by-standers,  not  even  pro 
voking  a  solitary  smile,  it  established  one  of  two  facts :  either, 
that  the  doctor  had  no  regard  for  his  personal  and  professional 
dignity,  or  else  that  the  incident  was  too  familiar  a  one  to  create 
surprise.  Whichever  it  was,  the  worthy  doctor  did  not  stop 
to  say,  nor  even  to  make  the  observation  that  it  was  one  of  Long 
Bill's  funny  ways,  which  everybody  in  Enfield  knew;  but,  assisted 
by  the  giant  himself,  pushed  his  way,  with  his  usual  good-nature, 
through  the  throng  in  the  public  room,  into  a  broad  entry  which 
separated  the  latter  from  the  dining-room,  and,  preceded  by  the 
host  himself,  ascended  to  a  small  neatly  furnished  chamber  on  the 
second  floor,  where,  on  abed,  lay  his  patient,  groaning  with  agony 
from  his  wound. 

It  was  a  long  and  tedious  affair  for  the  worthy  doctor — who 
also,  like  most  of  country  physicians,  combined  with  his  art  the 
practice  of  surgery — to  extract  the  ball  and  set  the  injured  bone, 
but  it  was  done  at  length,  and  if  not  as  well  as  before,  at  least  as 
well  as  could  be  expected ;  and  then  the  ex-confidential  clerk  was 
left  to  a  reviving  cup  of  tea,  a  plate  of  toast,  and — his  own  dark, 
bitter  thoughts. 

It  was  late  when  he  slept,  late  when  he  awoke.  He  sum 
moned  a  servant,  and  ordered  breakfast.  While  swallowing  an 
egg,  the  doctor  made  his  appearance.  Brigham  nodded  to  him, 
and  continued  his  meal  in  surly  silence. 

Meanwhile,  the  physician  quietly  inspected  the  features  of  his 
patient. 

"  A  bold,  bad  man,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  If  the  Cre 
ator  ever  branded  a  human  creature  with  the  outward  impress  of 
innate  wickedness,  this  must  be  that  creature.  What  eyes,  what 
nostrils,  what  teeth !"  he  added,  with  a  shudder.  "  That  such  a 
being  should  have  it  in  his  power  to  destroy  so  pure  a  flower  as 


480          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

Samuel !  Yes,  our  pastor  is  right :  '  There  are  men  who  know 
no  god  but  Satan ;  they  are  his  agents,  and  serve  him  with  the 
same  zeal  that  the  good  do  their  King  and  Prince.  They 
have  power  upon  God's  children  to-day,  as  Satan  himself  had 
power  upon  Job.'  This  man  is  one  of  them." 

Brigham  continued  his  meal;  his  features  squirming  every 
now -and  then,  as  a  careless  movement  disturbed  his  wounded 
arm,  and  caused  it  to  shoot  a  thrill  of  agony  throughout  his  ner 
vous  system. 

The  worthy  doctor  surveyed  him  with  his  calm,  intelligent 
eye. 

"  That  men  can  be  found  to  work  for  so  stern  a  master,"  he 
said,  musingly,  "  and  for  such  wages,  too  !  For  his  labor  in 
worrying  Samuel,  this  bad  man  has  received  a  long  tissue  of 
malignant  thoughts,  domestic  misery,  the  detestation  of  all  who 
know  him,  and  last,  though  not  least,  a  broken  arm,  which  will 
always  remind  of  his  shame.  What  wages!  And  then,  in 
The  Hereafter — well !  well !"  he  added,  checking  himself,  (t  it  is 
not  for  me  to  say  what  his  wages  will  be  there  I" 

"  Now,  doctor,"  said  his  patient,  wiping  his  mouth  with  a 
napkin,  "  I  am  ready  for  you.  Handle  me  delicately,  for  I  am  in 
torture !" 

The  physician  rose  and  dressed  his  arm,  with  his  usual  care 
fulness  and  skill. 

When  the  operation  was  finished,  the  patient  took  a  port- 
monnaie  from  his  pocket,  and  opening  it,  drew  out  a  bill,  which 
he  silently  tendered  to  the  doctor. 

The  latter  mildly  but  firmly  declined  it,  and  then,  with  an  air 
at  once  courteous  and  dignified,  moved  from  the  apartment. 

"As  you  like!"  returned  the  other,  haughtily. 

"  Money  from  a  being  like  him !"  murmured  the  phsician,  as 
he  descended  the  stair-case ;  "  it  would  burn  me  !" 

Thus  far  the  ex-confidential  clerk   had   preserved   his  own 


THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         481 

thoughts,  his  own  counsel.  Excepting  his  brief  conversation 
with  his  host  upon  his  arrival,  the  few  words  which  had  escaped 
him  during  his  exciting  and  humiliating  adventure,  and  his  curt 
observations  to  the  doctorj  he  had  not  exchanged  a  syllable  with 
any  one  in  Enfield.  He  was,  therefore,  wholly  ignorant  of  the 
real  state  of  affairs  at  the  parsonage.  He  only  knew  that  while 
his  wife  detested  himself,  she  as  warmly  loved  Samuel.  He 
was  also  aware  that  she  was  not  one  to  let  either  pride  or  prin 
ciple  stand  in  her  way,  when  once  she  had  an  idea  to  carry  out, 
or  a  whim  to  gratify.  These  facts,  when  united,  formed,  in  the  ex- 
confidential  clerk's  opinion,  a  key  to  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Brigham. 
But  the  presence  of  Mr.  Crittenden  and  the  Townsends  mystified 
him.  Unless  they  were  there  as  aiders  and  abettors  in  his 
wife's  proposed  infamy,  why  were  they  there  at  all  ?  It  was 
true,  they  had  a  reputation  for  piety  and  respectability,  which 
ought  to  shield  them  from  so  ungenerous  a  suspicion ;  but  Brig- 
ham  knew  the  flimsy  character  of  the  Townsends'  piety  too  well 
to  believe  that  that  would  have  any  influence  upon  their  conduct. 
Mr.  Crittenden's  religion  he  judged  to  be  of  the  same  plastic 
nature. 

"  The  Townsends'  piety !"  muttered  Brigham,  with  a  sardonic 
smile.  "  Show  them  a  glittering  bait,  and  they  would  do  the 
work  of  devils.  Their  piety,  indeed !  They  worship  but  one 
god  —  Money.  If  there  be  any  real  vitality  in  religion,  the 
Townsends  in  the  Church  are  enough  to  strangle  it !" 

With  these  thoughts,  the  ex-confidential  clerk  ran  his  eyes 
around  the  room  in  search  of  his  revolver,  but  the  latter  had  dis 
appeared. 

Brigham  smiled,  darkly.  Then  taking  up  the  knife  which  had 
accompanied  his  breakfast,  he  carefully  examined  its  edge ;  and 
muttering,  "  This  will  do  as  well !"  he  cleaned  the  blade  by  draw 
ing  it  over  the  crumpled  napkin,  and  then  concealed  it  beneath 
his  vest. 

21 


482          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Now  for  a  solution  of  this,  enigma !''  he  muttered.  "  If  it  be 
as  I  suspect,  let  the  traitress  look  to  herself.  As  for  him — " 

He  paused,  drew  out  the  knife,  and  again  examined  its  edge. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  returning  the  weapon  to  its  hiding- 
place,  "  it  will  do !" 

And  he  descended,  with  a  moderately  firm  step,  to  the  public 
room,  where  he  found  the  landlord  leaning  over  the  counter,  and 
quietly  drumming  a  tune  with  his  fingers. 

"  Good-morning !"  said  the  latter,  surveying  his  guest  care 
fully. 

Brigham  returned  the  salutation  with  surly  haughtiness,  and 
was  passing  towards  the  door,  when  the  host  added — 

"  Two  words,  stranger  !" 

Brigham  paused,  and  drawing  himself  up,  demanded — 
."What  are  they,  sir?" 

"  The  first  is,  that  you  are  wanted  at  the  parsonage,  as  soon  as 
you  caia  make  it  convenient."  •-> 

"  Who  sent  that  message  ?" 

"  Mr.  Leland.     You  know  him,  I  presume  !" 

His  guest  colored,  but  made  no  answer  to  the  latter  remark. 

"  Your  second  word  ?"  he  said,  sternly. 

"  That  you  will,  from  this  moment,  relieve  me  of  the  favor  of 
your  patronage !"  returned  the  host,  with  a  satirical  bow.  "  I 
am  very  particular  about  the  character  of  my  guests,  and  yours 
don't  come  up  to  my  mark  !" 

The  eyes  of  the  ex-confidential  clerk  glittered,  his  cheeks  paled 
his  nostrils  swelled,  and  his  teeth  darkened,  as  if  shadowed  by 
a  passing  cloud. 

"  Your  bill !"  he  cried,  striding  fiercely  up  to  the  counter. 

"  Excuse  me !"  returned  the  host,  with  a  cool,  mocking  bow, 
"I  have  none  made  out."  A  second  bow.  "I  shall  make 
none  out."  A  third  bow.  "  I  have  no  desire  to  make  one  out." 
A  fourth  bow.  "But,"  with  a  fifth  bow,  more  mocking  than 


WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          483 

either  of  its  predecessors,  "  I  should  be  happy — very  happy — to 
see  you  march  out !" 

"  Your  bill — your  bill !"  cried  Brigham,  in  a  tone  which  bore  a 
strong  resemblance  to  a  shriek. 

As  for  his  countenance,  at  this  instant,  it  was  really  a  picture. 
His  eyes  glared  like  those  of  a  beast  of  prey  when  meditating  a 
spring;  his  nostrils  did  not  merely  swell,  they  flapped;  his 
cheeks  and  lips  were  absolutely  livid ;  his  teeth  were  so  many 
screaming  vultures.  In  fact,  an  imaginative  mind  would  have 
fancied  Brigham's  features,  at  this  moment,  to  be  so  many  angry 
bullies  who  accompanied  him  to  u  do  his  fighting." 

Most  men  would  have  quailed  before  that  frightful  face ;  but 
Tom  Lowndes,  the  landlord,  not  being  of  a  very  timorous  nature 
— that  is  to  say,  having  Revolutionary  blood  in  his  veins — he 
didn't  quail,  a  bit.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  as  cool  as  a  Novem 
ber  breeze  ;  and  that  is  generally  very  cjool — in  Enfield.  There 
fore,  he  looked  at  the  ex-confidential  clerk's  gratuitous  exhibition 
of  ferocity  as  tranquilly  as  he  would  if  surveying  a  painting  or 
a  statue  of  some  ridiculous  hobgoblin,  and  wondering  whether 
it  was  designed  to  frighten  children  to  sleep,  or  to  make  them 
laugh,  or  what. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  trowsers' 
pockets,  and  then  raising  himself  on  his  toes,  and  then  returning 
to  hi-s  heels,  and  then  up  on  his  toes  again,  as  Quakers  are  sup 
posed  to  do  every  time  they  say  "  Hum  !"  and  leave  the  presence 
of  a  lady,  "  and  so,  you  funny  man  with  your  left  arm  in  a  sling, 
and  your  eyes,  and  lips,  and  teeth  making  such  comical  faces — 
you  would  like  me  to  make  out  a  bill  ?  Well — pray  be  cool, 
now,  be  cool,  bubby — don't  shake  yourself  to  pieces,  it  might 
hurt  you  !— well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  I  don't  like  to  do  such 
a  thing,  at  present ;  at  least,  not  in  your  case.  How  do  I  know 
what  you  might  want  to  do  with  my  signature  after  the  'received 
•  payment J?'  Keep  cool,  bubby — keep  cool.  Don't  try  to  climb 


484          WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

over  that  counter  ;  it's  against  the  rules:  and  besides,  you  might 
scratch  off  the  paint.  Why,  how  you  roar  !  You  remind  me 
of  Deacon  Disosway's  bull  when  it  had  the  colic.  But,  as  I  was 
saying :  there's  no  telling  what  you  might  want  to  do  with  my 
signature.  As  for  your  board  and  lodging,  you  are  perfectly 
welcome.  Pray,  young  man  !  is  there  anything  the  matter  with 
you,  that  you  throw  yourself  around  in  that  manner?  Aint  you 
afraid—" 

"  Afraid  ?" 

"Yes — of  breaking  your  suspenders,  or  something  of  that 
sort !  But  perhaps  I  am  mistaken.  You  can't  be  a  circus-actor 
— a  clown,  or  anything  of  that  kind — can  you  ?  You 
look—" 

"  Well,  sir  !"  thundered  Brigham,  "  how  do  I  look  T 

tl  Mean  enough  to  be  a  pickpocket — a  house-thief — or  to  steal 
spoons !"  said  the  host,  -with  a  quiet  bow.  "  Mean  enough  to 
be  a  watch-stuffer,  a  thimble-rigger,  or  a  blackleg  !"  A  second 
bow.  "  Yes,  mean  enough  to  steal  your  employer's  money,  and 
drop  it  in  the  vest  pocket  and  between  the  cloth  and  lining  of  a 
fellow-clerk's  coat!"  A  third  bow — very  low— head  almost 
touching  the  floor. 

The  enraged  ex-confidential  clerk  could  stand  no  more.  He 
reeled  from  the  inn  to  the  road  like  a  drunken  man  ;  gritting 
his  teeth  like  a  savage.  He,  paused  an  instant  or  two,  in  the 
middle  of  the  highway ;  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  to  throw  off 
the  overwhelming  insults  which  had  been  heaped  so  pitilessly 
upon  him ;  sighed  for  his  revolver,  and  then,  with  a  broken 
eurse,  staggered  across  the  road  to  a  dwelling,  which  his  instinct 
told  him  was  the  parsonage. 

On  reaching  the  fence,  he  leaned  against  it  for  a  few  moments 
to  recover  himself,  breathing  hard  the  while.  Then  passing 
through  the  little  gate,  he  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened 
by  our  old  acquaintance,  Aunt  Betsy. 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          485 

The  latter  recoiled,  a  step  or  two,  at  sight  of  the  visitor,  and 
surveyed  him  as  she  would  a  serpent. 

The  worthy  housekeeper  had  heard  so  much  of  the  individual 
who  stood  before  her,  that  she  recognized  him  at  a  glance ;  and 
although  she  knew,  as  the  poor  soul  afterwards  expressed  it, 
"  that  it  was  both  uncivil  and  improper  to  show  her  scornful 
feel  ins,  and  the  horror  with  which  she  regarded  him,  she  could 
no  more  help  it  than  fly — not  a  bit  more." 

Brigham  smiled,  darkly. 

"  Mr.  Leland  and  my  wife !"  he  said,  or  rather  hissed. 
"  Where  are  they  V 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  housekeeper,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  loath 
ing  and  terror. 

The  ex-confidential  clerk  followed  her  up  to  the  front  room 
on  the  second  floor — his  hand  buried  in  his  vest,  and  grasping 
the  handle  of  his  knife.  ;.  «-. 

Aunt  Betsy  knocked  softly  at  the  door.  The  ex-confidential 
stationed  himself  at  her  side. 

A  gentle  step  was  heard — Brigham,  unseen,  drew  out  his 
knife. 

The  door  opened ;  a  single  glance,  and  Brigham  started  back 
in  amazement. 

The  knife  fell  from  his  hand.  It  was  picked  up  by  Aunt 
Betsy,  who  looked  at  him  as  if  she  had  more  than  half  a  will 
to  sheathe  it  in  his  heart. 

"It  was  very  wrong  of  her,"  she  admitted  subsequently,,"  but 
she  couldn't  help  it !" 

Where  is  that  bold,  bad  man's  haughty  spirit  now  ?  Where 
the  tiger  fury  which  was  consuming  him  but  a  little  moment  ago  1 
Where  the  jealous  demon  that  possessed  and  drove  him  to  the 
very  verge  of  green,  raving  madness  ? 

Gone — like  a  breath,  like  a  flash,  like  a  sudden  waking  from 
a  wild,  insane  dream. 


486          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 


On  a  bed,  thin,  and  wan,  and  pale,  and  wasted,  his  dark  eyes 
looking  calmly  out  from  underneath  his  lofty  brow,  the  edge 
sharpened,  like  his  nose  and  chin,  by  disease,  lay,  in  the  closing 
stages  of  dissolution,  the  innocent  victim  of  this  bad  man's  wiles. 

On  a  chair  beside  the  bed,  her  head  bowed  upon  the  pillow, 
sobbing  lowly,  as  if  her  pure,  warm  heart  were  bursting,  her 
small,  slender  form  thinned  by  the  stern  pressure  of  long  watch 
ing  and  her  first  great  grief,  sat  Miriam. 

Around  this  couch,  on  chairs,  their  heads  bowed  in  sadness  and 
in  silence,  were  the  Townsends,  Mr.  Crittenden,  the  bold,  bad 
man's  wife,  a  little  girl,  and  the  parents  of  the  pale,  wasted  form 
on  the  bed. 

"  Room  for  Mr.  Brigham,"  said  Samuel,  in  a  clear  but  feeble 
voice. 

The  parties  moved  their  chairs  aside,  and  Brigham,  recalled  to 
his  presence  of  mind  by  a  touch  from  Aunt  Betsy,  entered  the 
chamber — his  step  shuffling,  and  his  countenance  flushed  with 
shame. 

He  approached  the  bedside  like  a  guilty  thing — with  the  air  of 
a  thief  detected  in  the  act. 

The  young  Christian  extended  his  hand  to  his  enemy,  with  a 
look  so  full  of  magnanimity,  forgiveness,  and  love,  that  it  com 
pelled  the  latter  to  avert  his  head. 

In  his  long  commercial  and  other  calculations,  Brigham  had 
never  made  provision  for  a  look  like  that,  nor  a  scene  like  this. 

44 1  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Brigham,"  said  Samuel,  gently,  "  to 
show.you  how  calmly  a  Christian  can  die  !" 

Brigham  groaned.  "  Would  the  earth  but  swallow  me !"  he 
muttered. 

"  I  am  going  to  my  Master,  to  my  Saviour,"  continued  Samuel, 
"and  on  learning  that  you  were  in  Enfield,  I  had  a  strong  desire 
to  see  you.  I  wanted  to  assure  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  dying  man, 
that  neither  now  nor  at  any  other  time  have  I  harbored  a  single 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  487 

unkind  thought  against  you,  and  that  I  fully,  freely  pardon  you 
for  all  that  you  may  have  said  or  done  to  me.  And  I  feel  very 
grateful  to  you  for  coming  here,  at  my  request,  and  allowing  me 
so  kindly  to  say  to  you  these  words !" 

He  dropped  his  hand,  and  Brigham,  pale,  and  gasping  hard  for 
breath,  reeled  from  the  bedside  to  a  chair  in  the  furthest  corner, 
where  he  sat,  staring  at  the  floor,  with  his  eyes  as  hard  and  dry 
as  stones,  and  with  a  wild  sensation,  as  if  his  brain  had  been 
transmuted  into  wood,  and  was  all  on  fire. 

A  long  silence  followed,  which  was  broken  only  by  low  sighs. 

Samuel  lay  calm  and  tranquil ;  with  an  occasional  long-drawn 
breath.  At  length,  he  made  a  sign.  He  was  about  to  speak. 

"  Mrs.  Brigham,"  he  said. 

The  latter  approached,  and  took  his  hand. 

Samuel  looked  at  her  with  a  fraternal  air. 

"  If  you  would  only  be  reconciled  to  Mr.  Brigham,"  he  said, 
tenderly. 

Brigham  himself  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  listened. 

"  The  marriage-vow,"  continued  Samuel,  "is  a  holy  one.  It  is 
made  before  man  and  God,  and  should  not  be  broken.  You  have 
vowed  to  cling  together  unto  death,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  do  so. 
The  voice  of  duty  is  imperious,  because  upon  it  depends  our 
happiness  here,  and  hereafter." 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  cried  the  lady,  "  do  not  ask  me  to  do  that.  I 
do  not  love  him." 

"  But  you  are  his  wife,"  returned  Samuel,  gently,  "  and  it  is 
your  duty  to  love  him ;  and  you  would  find  it  a  pleasant  duty, 
too,  if  you  would  only  consent  to  try.  Mr.  Brigham,  my  friend, 
be  kind  enough  to  step  here  a  moment." 

Brigham  complied,  looking  very  much  like  a  man  who  was 
about  to  be  hanged. 

"  Mr.  Brigham,"  said  Samuel,  kindly,  "  look  your  wife  in  the 
face.  Mrs.  Brigham,  turn  your  eye  upon  your  husband."  The 


488  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OB  THE  LEFT. 

speaker  then  added,  solemnly,  "  You  two,  who  are  looking  upon 
each  other,  have  registered  an  oath  on  the  tablets  of  the  record 
ing  angel,  that  you  would  love  one  another,  cherish  one  another, 
abide  with  one  another.  Why  do  you  not  remember  it?  If 
evil  counsels  have  stepped  in  between  you,  is  that  a  reason  why 
you  should  forget  your  compact?  Should  you  yield  to  evil 
counsels  your  honor,  your  oath,  your  duty?  If  evil  thoughts 
have  come  in  upon  you,  suggesting  your  estrangement,  is  that  a 
reason  why  you  should  mutually  forget  your  oath  ?  Or  is  an 
oath  nothing,  God  nothing,  duty  nothing,  and  your  own  whims 
everything  ?  Say  you  do  not  love  each  other.  Is  that  a  reason 
why  you  should  not  try  to  do  so  ?  Is  not  duty  worth,  at  least, 
an  honest  trial  ?  If  you  do  not  love,  how  know  you  that  you 
cannot  ?  Duty  is  worth  an  effort.  Think — your  oath  !" 
He  paused.  There  was  no  answer.  He  resumed — 
"  It  may  be  you  think  hard  of  one  another ;  that  you  entertain 
opinions  adverse  to  each  other's  personal  worth.  This  for  your 
encouragement:  There  came  never  yet  from  the  Creator's  hand  a 
heart  that  had  not  its  good  corner.  Who  looks  for  it,  in  a  kindly 
spirit,  will  find  it ;  but  who  looks  for  it  with  an  ungenerous  key, 
will  never  find  its  lock.  The  human  heart  is  a  simple  thing  to 
him  who'll  try  to  understand  it.  Would  you  see  its  rudeness, 
touch  it  rudely,  and  its  rudeness  will  spring  out.  Would  you 
taste  its  sweetness,  touch  its  better  part,  and  its  sweetness  will 
gush  forth.  Who  would  receive  kindness,  must  themselves  be 
kind.  You  two,  who  are  looking  at  each  other  now,  have  each 
your  better  corners,  and  room,  too,  in  your  hearts  for  tender  affec 
tions,  although  you  may  suspect  it  not.  Hitherto  you  have  only 
played  upon  each  other's  evil ;  make  a  noble  effort  now  to  reach 
each  others  goodness.  The  fountain  of  love  is  vast,  and  will  in 
crease  day  by  day,  excluding  in  time  all  the  bitterness,  so  we  but 
feed  it  daily.  Mr.  Brigham  !  have  you  not  in  your  heart  a  kindly 
feeling  for  this  lady,  who  loves  you,  though  she  thinks  it  not  T 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  489 

"I  confess  it,"  said  Brigham,  glancing  stealthily  at  his 
wife. 

';  And  you,  Mrs.  Brigham,  have  you  not  in  your  heart  a  kindly 
feeling  for  this  gentleman,  who  loves  you,  though  you  think  it  not "?" 

The  lady  was  silent.     But  brave  Samuel  did  not  despair. 

"  Listen,"  he  said.  "  The  heart  that  truly  loves  is  slow  to 
admit  it,  lest  its  love  should  be  too  lightly  esteemed.  But  it 
need  not  be  so  in  your  case :  your  husband  will  appreciate  your 
love,  value  it,  and  teach  you,  by  his  own  ardor,  how  it  may  grow 
and  deepen  for  him,  as  his  will  grow  and  deepen  for  you.  Let 
him  once  see  your  goodness,  and  his  will  run  out  to  meet  it." 

He  paused  again  ;  but  the  lady  was  still  silent. 

Mr.  Townsend  glanced  at  his  wife,  and  silently  inquired — 

"  What  do  you  think  ?    Will  she  consent  T 

His  lady  answered  with  another  glance — 

"  No.     Or,  if  she  does,  she  will  not  adhere  to  it." 

"What  Mrs.  Brigham  means,"  said  Samuel,  addressing  the 
lady's  husband,  "  is,  that  she  may  not  love  you  ••  enough  at  first, 
perhaps,  and  that  you  will  yourself  grow  discouraged  ;  that  she 
has  certain  little  fixed  whims  which  she  may  not  be  able  to  get 
rid  of  all  at  once,  and  that  you  will  not  kindly  make  allowance  for 
them  while  they  are  passing  off;  so  that  her  love,  which  is  now 
away  down  in  her  heart,  may  gradually  work  its  way  to  the  top, 
and  look  out  and  meet  the  sunshine  of  your  love.  She  fears 
that  you  will  not  give  it  time  to  reach  the  surface,  but  chill  it 
back  ere  it  shall  get  up  very  far  !  Is  not  that  it,  dear  lady  ?" 

"  Yes  J"  faltered  the  latter,  glancing  stealthily  at  her  husband. 

"  But  her  fears  are  groundless — are  they  not,  Mr.  Brigham  ?" 
said  Samuel.  "You  will  pledge  her  your  word* as  a  gentleman, 
that  you  will  give  her  affection  ample  time  to  thrive  and  reach 
the  sun  ?" 

«  i  wiH — I  do  !"  said  the  latter,  with  every  intention  of  keep 
ing  his  pledge. 

21* 


490  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"Then  I  will  meet  you  half  way,  Brigham,"  said  his  wife, 
generously  extending  her  hand.  "  I  will  be  good  if  you  will, 
kind  if  you  will.  I  give  you  my  word,  as  a  lady  !" 

Brigham  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it.  The  pressure  was  re 
turned. 

A  flush  of  pleasure  spread,  like  a  play  of  light,  over  the  brow 
of  the  young  Christian. 

"Be  again  as  one,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "Think  kindly  of  one 
another ;  have  consideration  for  each  other's  weaknesses  ;  bid 
the  evil  depart,  and  let  the  good  rise,  and  expand,  and  deepen. 
So  shall  you  find  peace,  and  love,  and  joy.  Go,"  he  added, 
touchingly,  "  go  and  be  happy  !" 

The  reunited  couple  passed  away  from  the  bedside. 

"  *  Blessed  are  the  peace-makers,'  "  murmured  Mr.  Crittenden. 
"  O,  Jesus !  what  great  hearts  thou  placest  in  the  breasts  of 
Thy  people !" 

"  Hand  me  a  drink,"  said  Samuel. 

It  was  done  by  her  who  loved  him  as  she  loved  none  other 
on  earth. 

Samuel  rewarded  her  with  a  grateful  smile. 

"  Miriam,"  he  said,  taking  and  pressing  her  hand,  "  Miriam, 
my  sweet  one !  yours  has  been  an  unhappy  love." 

"  No,  no,  Samuel !  no,  of  joy,  rather ;  of  great,  great  joy  !" 
cried  the  young  girl,  through  her  tears. 

"We  were  wed  in  my  affliction,"  continued  her  husband, 
gently  ;  "  when  death  had  already  marked  me  for  his  own. 
From  that  hour  until  now,  your  tender  eye  has  been  upon  your 
mate,  but  it  has  only  been  to  see  him  move  day  by  day  nearer 
and  nearer  to  h*s  tomb.  This  is  not  the  sight  for  a  young  wife's 
heart.  Surely  an  unhappy  bridal !" 

"  Not  for  me,  Samuel !  Not  for  me.  Oh,  no.  Do  not  think 
it!" 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Samuel,  shaking  his  head, "  but  I  must  think 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          491 

it.  The  honeymoon  may  bring  tears  to  a  young  wife's  eyes,  but 
they  should  be  tears  of  joy,  not  sadness.  It  should  tell  of  present 
bliss,  not  misery,  and  promise  a  bright,  not  a  gloomy,  future.  I 
mention  this,  sweet  one !  to  assure  you  that  if  I  have  been  a 
silent  witness  of  your  devotion,  I  have  appreciated  it  as  well.  I 
have  sympathized  with  your  fond  feelings,  and  mourned  for  you 
over  your  unfortunate  lot  in  having  fixed  your  woman's  affec 
tions  upon  one  who  could  only  reward  them  with  a  smile ;  in 
having,  out  of  your  great  goodness,  allied  yourself  to  one  who 
could  be  with  you  but  a  little  time,  and  that  time  only  in  sorrow. 
But  take  comfort,  sweet  one  !  we  shall  have  another  union,  in  a 
land  where  sorrow  comes  not,  nor  parting  hours  :  THERE  !" 

He  pressed  her  hand,  and  she  sunk  upon  a  chair,  like  one 
heart-broken. 

"  Mr.  Crittenden,"  said  Samuel. 

That  gentleman  stepped  up  and  took  tie  young  Christian's 
extended  hand. 

"  Dear  friend,"  he  said,  falteringly. 

"  Dear  brother,"  continued  Samuel,  "  I  wish  to  congratulate 
you  upon  your  coming  to  our  Prince,  and  to  ask  you  if  you  have 
not  found  joy  in  believing  T' 

"  Great  joy,  my  friend — joy  unspeakable." 

"Ah!  you  make  me  very  happy.  You  vr'1;,  I  know,  adhere 
faithfully  to  the  standard  of  our  Prince,  been  ^e  you  are  a  brave 
and  upright  man.  We  are  about  to  part,  dear  brother ;  but 
only  for  a  brief  season.  I  shall  see  you  arvn,  and  when  I  see 
you,  you  will  be  clothed  in  the  bright  g^ments  of  the  Re 
deemed." 

"  God  grant  it !" 

"He  has  granted  it,  already,  dear  brother,''  said  the  young 
man,  affectionately.  "  I  can  almost  see  the  rarr-flnt  and  the  man 
sion  which  have  been  marked  out  for  you  There,  even  now. 
Oh,  could  the  world  but  be  persuaded  of  the  ncYe  heart  of  our 


492  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

dear  Prince !  How  full  it  is  of  love,  of  hope,  of  kindness,  of 
gentleness,  and  of  generous  magnanimity — they  would  rise  up  in 
myriads,  and  strive  with  each  other  for  precedence  in  His  ac 
quaintance  and  affection  !  Believe  it !" 

"I  do— firmly." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that ;  for  you,  dear  brother,  are  one  of  the  few 
who,  when  once  convinced,  act  resolutely  and  at  once  upon  the 
line  prescribed  by  your  conviction.  Ah !  you  cannot  conceive 
what  joy  there  is  in  heaven  when  a  great  mind  like  yours  takes 
up  arms  for  Christ ;  for  the  angels  know  that  great  minds  will 
not  be  content  with  making  offering  to  Him  of  themselves  alone  /" 

The  merchant  bowed  his  gratitude  for  these  obliging  words. 

"  There's  not  a  being  on  Life's  pathway,"  continued  Samuel, 
glancing  at  the  Townsends  meaningly,  "  whose  steps  are  not 
watched  from  Heaven — joyfully,  if  he  walk  in  the  light  of  the 
Right ;  mournfully,  if  he  continue  in  the  darkness  of  the  Left !" 
Then  pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend,  he  said,  "  Dear  brother ! 
my  society  will  want  looking  after.  Its  members  are  leal  men 
in  Christ,  but  they  would,  I  know,  feel  additionally  strengthened 
and  encouraged,  if  you  would  but  make  one  of  their  number.  Your 
ripe,  comprehensive  mind,  rich  in  suggestiveness  and  experience, 
would  be  to  them  like  a  vast  granary,  to  which  they  could  resort, 
in  time  of  need,  for  nutritious  food,  in  the  way  of  counsel  and 
direction.  If  you  would  only  make  one  of  them,"  he  added, 
pressing  Mr.  Crittenden's  hand  tenderly,  "  it  would  make  you 
and  them  so  happy !" 

"  I  will  do  so,  joyfully !" 

"  Thank  you — thank  you !  O  what  a  world  of  light,  and  love, 
and  pleasure,  it  will  open  unto  you  !  And  now,  one  word." 

"  Say  it,  dear  friend." 

"  I  have  made  out  a  list  of  my  poor,  which  Miriam  will  hand 
you  when  I  am  gone.  Many  of  them,  I  have  reason  to  believe, 
are  His  children.  You  will  find  a  figure  1  mark  before  their 


WHICH:    THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          493 

names.  Some  are  conning  the  subject  over,  but  have  not  yet 
found  Him ;  these  want  encouragement :  their  names  are 
marked  by  a  figure  2.  The  others,  whose  names  are  prefixed 
by  a  figure  3,  are  warped  in  mind  by  views  bordering  upon  infi 
delity,  and  can  only  be  led  to  Jesus  by  slow  and  patient  stages. 
If  only  one  of  them  can  be  saved,  it  will  be  matter  for  rejoicing. 
But  they  are  all  more  or  less  friendless  and  helpless,  all  deserv 
ing.  Three  of  them  are  paralyzed,  four  bedridden,  one  blind, 
one  a  struggling  widow  with  four  small  children,  one  a  noble- 
hearted  wife  with  three  helpless  little  ones,  and  a  husband 
chained  to  his  bed  with  consumption ;  two  are  helpless  with 
rheumatism,  and  one  a  noble  orphan  girl,  of  eighteen,  strug 
gling  to  keep  her  two  little  orphan  sisters  from  the  alms-house. 
They  are  all  honest,  virtuous,  deserving  people;  and  I  should 
rejoice  in  the  knowledge  that  their  little  wants  will  not  be  for 
gotten  when  I  shall  be  no  more." 

"  I  will  take  charge  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Crittenden,  with  emo 
tion. 

"  And  you  will  encourage  those  who  are  laboring  in  mind  with 
hope,  and  be  kind  and  patient  with  the  others,  and  lead  them,  if 
possible,  to  the  Eight  ?" 

"  Yes.     I  promise  it." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you — thank  you.  You  make  me  very  happy !" 
cried  Samuel,  with  a  parting  pressure. 

Mr.  Crittenden  returned  to  his  seat,  sobbing  like  a  little  child. 

Samuel  paused  a  while  to  gather  a  small  degree  of  strength, 
and  then  called  up  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Townsend.  He  surveyed  them 
alternately  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  and  with  an  air  of 
mournful  sadness.  He  knew,  by  that  peculiar  intuition  which 
enables  the  children  of  God  to  single  out  those  who  are  really 
of  Him,  from  those  who  are  only  seemingly  so,  that  the  piety  of 
this  pair  was  simply  a  pretence  ;  and  he  felt  it  a  duty  which  he 
owed  to  his  Maker,  and  to  the  couple  themselves,  to  warn  them 
jf  their  danger. 


49 L          WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  they  alone  would  be 
likely  to  understand,  "  you  have  often  seen  a  city  missionary. 
He  goes,  like  a  messenger  from  heaven,  with  his  little  pack  of 
Gospel  messages,  from  house  to  house — leaving  a  tract  here,  a 
Bible  there,  a  kind  word  everywhere.  One  door  opens  to 
him  freely,  and  receives  his  tract  or  book  with  the  same  kind 
spirit  with  which  it  is  tendered  ;  a  second,  coldly ;  a  third,  some 
times  from  pride,  sometimes  from  policy,  and  sometimes  from 
both,  opens  to  him  with  affected  pleasure  and  politeness,  and 
receives  his  heavenly  messages  with  a  show  of  genial  gladness, 
which  deceives  no  one  but  themselves — the  humble  missionary, 
never;  while  a  fourth  bars  itself  against  him,  and  though  he 
knock  or  ring  ever  so  long  and  loud,  neither  mistress  nor  servant 
will  come — that  door  remains  closed  against  him.  On  his 
second  round,  his  reception  is  the  same;  the  third,  like  the  first 
and  second  ;  and  the  fourth,  as  the  third — the  fourth  door  is  ever 
closed  against  him.  On  his  fifth,  he  may  try  the  fourth  door  for 
the  fifth  time,  but  if  he  find  it  impenetrable  still,  he  puts  it  down 
in  future  as  a  door  at  which  there  is  no  use  in  knocking,  and 
ever  after  passes  it  by  without  attempting  to  enter.  The  Holy 
Spirit,  in  its  tours  among  men,  is  like  that  humble  missionary. 
As  the  latter  knocks  from  door  to  door,  the  Spirit  knocks  from 
heart  to  heart.  One  receives  it  kindly,  gratefully  ;  a  second, 
coldly ;  a  third,  to  serve  some  worldly  policy,  receives  it  with 
a  show  of  great  gladness  and  rejoicing,  which  sometimes  deceives 
the  world,  themselves  not  at  all,  the  Spirit  itself,  never ;  while 
a  fourth  fastens  its  door  against  it,  as  if  with  locks  and  bolts, 
and  will  not  let  it  in.  The  Spirit  calls  again,  but  with  the  same 
ill  success ;  and  again,  and  yet  again,  but  with  no  better  result 
than  before.  It  is  grieved  at  the  stubbornness  of  that  heart 
which  will  not  accept  of  goodness  for  its  own  sake,  if  not  for 
His,  and  it  departs  in  sadness.  When  again  it  comes  that  way, 
it  sets  the  door  of  that  heart  down  as  one  at.  which  there  is  no 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          495 

use  in  knocking,  and  mournfully  passes  it  by.  If  it  never,  in 
mercy,  knock  at  its  door  again — as  sometimes  it  does  not — 
WHAT  THEN  ?  Let  it  bolt  and  bar  itself  in,  though  never  so 
strongly,  there  comes  at  last  a  second  spirit  which  it  can  not 
shut  out :  Death  !  That  spirit  is  God's  constable.  It  holds  out 
its  warrant,  and  laying  its  cold  hand  upon  the  trembling,  unre 
pentant  heart,  says :  1 1  arrest  you  in  The  King's  name.  Your 
time's  up.  ComeT  Dear  friends,"  added  the  young  Christian, 
impressively,  "  if  either  of  you  are  acquainted  with  any  heart 
that  has  closed  its  door  upon  the  Holy  Spirit,  warn  it,  for  its 
own  sake,  to  do  so  no  more :  for  its  time  is  not  always,  and  the 
constable  is  at  hand  !" 

The  Townsends  returned  to  their  seats  with  misty  eyes  and 
troubled  minds  :  as  thankful  for  the  solemn  admonition,  as  for  the 
delicate  manner  in  which  it  had  been  given. 

"  Great  heart — great  heart !"  murmured  Mr.  Crittenden,  who 
understood  and  comprehended  it  all.  "  O,  would  they  but  re 
member  it,  and  take  heed  !" 

"  Ada,"  said  Samuel. 

"  My  protector !"  said  the  child,  approaching  him. 

"Ada,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  her  head,  "  I 
promised  your  mother  to  educate,  watch  over,  and  bring  you  up 
in  the  light  of  the  Divine  Eye.  I  cannot  keep  that  promise 
in  my  own  person ;  but,  thanks  to  my  Redeemer !  I  have 
friends  who  will  do  it  for  'me,  when  I  am  gone.  And  you,  Ada, 
darling,  are  one  of  these  friends.  You  will  help  me  a  little, 
will  you  not  ?" 

"How?"  asked  the  child,  innocently. 

"  By  being  good ;  by  loving  God  and  Jesus,  and  your  teachers 
and  your  friends,  and  everybody  in  the  world  V 

"  I'll  do  that.     I'll  be  good— always,"  said  the  child. 

"  Ah !  thank  you,  darling — thank  you ;  you  make  me  very 
happy  !  Now,  look  at  me — look  at  me  well,  and  remember  my 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

face.  One  of  these  days,  if  you  will  only  be  good,  you  will  go 
up  to  heaven,  and  then  you  will  know  me,  and  then  you  will  see 
God  and  His  Son,  Jesus — The  Prince.  Oh,  Ada,  darling,  don't 
forget  to  be  good — don't.  I  shall  look  for  you  so  anxiously. 
You  won't  forget  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  child.     "  I  will  be  good  !" 

"  Ah  !  thank  you — thank  you.  Miriam,  sweet  one !  unto  you 
I  intrust  the  keeping  of  this  child.  Take  her,  love  her — rear 
her,  as  if  she  were  born  of  your  love  and  mine,  as  a  pearl  for 
Our  Prince's  crown." 

"  I  will !"  said  Miriam,  pressing  the  sobbing  child  to  her  breast. 
"  I  will !" 

"  Ah !  thanks — thanks  !  You  make  me  very  happy  !  Kiss 
me,  Miriam — and  you,  too,  Ada !" 

"  And  this  is  the  man  against  whom  I  raised  my  hand !"  mur 
mured  Mr.  Brigham.  "  God  help  me  !" 

A  pause  followed.  The  young  Christian  was  recovering  his 
strength.  At  length  he  glanced  invitingly  at  his  parents.  They 
approached. 

Samuel,  with  his  eye  upon  the  pillow,  surveyed  them  for  a 
few  moments  with  an  air  of  touching  tenderness. 

"  Your  hand,  dear  father — dear  mother,  yours  !"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  which  showed  how  deeply  he  was  stirred.  Affection,  sym 
pathy,  respect,  pity,  were  in  his  air  and  voice.  "  I  feel  for  you," 
he  added,  pressing  their  hands.  "The  rod  of  affliction  is  laid 
upon  you  hard — you,  whose  delicate  hearts  feel  affliction's 
slightest  touch  so  keenly  !  But  a  few  months,  and  you  were 
called  upon  to  surrender  up" — his  voice  faltered — "  brother  Joe 
— your  little  one.  The  grass  is  scarcely  yet  formed  which 
covers  his  little  form !" 

He  paused  ;  emotion  shook  him  :  a  tear  fell  from  his  eyelid 
to  his  cheek.  He  recovered  again,  and  continued  : 

"  And  now  you  are  commanded  to  relinquish  your  first-born 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  on  THE  LEFT.  497 

— your  only  one.  I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  great  sorrow. 
Pardon — pardon !"  he  added,  in  a  voice  which  struggled  in  vain 
to  be  firm.  "  I  wanted  to  console,  to  strengthen  you ;  but  1 
find — I  find  I  am  not  so  strong  as  I  thought.  I — I — my  heart  is 
breaking.  I — I — father — mother  !" 

And  unable  longer  to  restrain  his  agony  at  parting,  even  for  a 
time,  from  those  whom  he  so  tenderly  loved,  the  affectionate 
youth  gave  way,  and  his  great  heart  melted  away  in  tears. 

His  parents  bent  over  him,  and  their  sobs  mingled  together. 

Samuel  himself  was  the  first  to  master  his  emotion.  He 
glanced  alternately  at  the  two  dear  beings  whom  he  understood 
so  well,  and  whom  he  now  beheld  bowed  down  by  the  sternest 
of  human  sorrows.  He  knew  that  their  delicate  natures  could 
not  bear  to  see  even  an  humble  insect  suffer ;  and  he  compre 
hended  what  then  must  be  their  agony  in  parting  with  their  son, 
whom  they  had  known  and  loved  so  long,  whom  they  had  seen 
pass  from  infancy  to  childhood,  from  childhood  into  youth,  and 
from  youth  into  manhood — loving  him  fondly  all  the  way. 

They  were  upon  their  knees,  their  foreheads  bowed  in  mingled 
prayer  and  agony,  upon  the  coverlet. 

Samuel  laid  his  hands  affectionately  upon  their  heads.  . 

"  Take  comfort,  dear  hearts,"  he  faltered,  "  your  loved  one  is 
on  his  way  to  Our  Prince — The  Prince  of  the  Happy  Land. 
There,  ere  many  years,  you  will  re-meet  him,  to  part  no  more 
forever— rejoice,  dear  hearts,  rejoice  in  that !" 

The  parental  pair  looked  up,  and  thanked  him  with  their  eyes. 

"  Take  comfort,"  he  repeated,  tenderly.  "  For  the  two  whom 
He  has  taken  from  you,  He  has  given  you  two  in  return  :  Miriam 
and  Ada.  Love  them — cherish  them  :  Ada  as  Joseph,  Miriam 
as  Samuel." 

"  We  will,  dear  boy  !  We  will !"  said  the  pastor,  pressing 
Miriam  to  his  breast. 

"  They  shall  be  as  ours !"  said  Mrs.  Leland,  embracing  Ada. 


498          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

The  brow  of  the  young  Christian  became  radiant  with  hap 
piness. 

"  I  thank  you !"  he  faltered.     "  I  thank  you !" 

Emotion  overcame  him,  and  he  was  silent  for  a  time.  At 
length  he  grew  calmer. 

"  Father — mother,"  he  said,  "  let  me  testify  my  gratitude  for 
your  great  kindness  and  affection  to  me  from  my  infancy  until 
now ;  for  your  noble  precepts  and  examples ;  for  your  careful 
training  of  my  mind  and  heart ;  and  for  your  parental  goodness 
and  Christian  lovingness  in  having  led  me  early  in  the  way  to 
God.  I  love  and  revere  you  both — I  cannot  say  how  deeply. 
But  if  it  were  permitted  to  men  to  be  born  again  as  children, 
and  to  have  their  choice  of  parents,  I  would  select  you,  sir,  for 
my  father — you,  madam,  for  my  mother,  out  of  all  the  world : 
so  profoundly  do  I  honor  and  esteem  you !"  i'' 

His  parents  bowed  their  heads  upon  his  hands  in  thankfulness, 
and  to  evince  to  him  their  appreciation  of  this  generous  compli 
ment. 

''  Kiss  me,  my  father — and  you,  my  mother  !" 

And  these  three  pure,  sympathizing  natures  embraced  each 
other  for  the  last  time. 

The  agitated  parents  then  tore  themselves  away. 

The  young  Christian  sighed,  and  breathed  faintly. 

"  Shame  upon  me — shame  upon  me !"  murmured  Mr.  Brigham. 
"  Oh,  that  the  earth  would  open  and  swallow  me !  My  mother — 
my  mother !  upon  you  rests  the  blame  for  this !" 

At  length  Samuel  turned  a  glance  over  at  Aunt  Betsy,  who 
was  sitting  modestly,  and  sobbing  mournfully,  by  the  door.  She 
rose,  and  moved,  with  a  tottering  step,  towards  the  bed.  Samuel 
held  out  his  hand  to  the  good  old  creature,  who,  he  knew,  loved 
him  with  a  tenderness  scarcely  second  to  that  of  his  mother. 

"  Betsy,"  he  said,  "  your  laughing  boy,  who  used  to  .give  you 
so  much  anxiety  when  he  was  a  child — whom  vou  have  tossed 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          499 

and  dandled  in  your  arms  as  if  he  were  your  own — whom  you 
so  humored  and  caressed,  but  never  spoiled,  wishes  to  thank  you 
for  the  many  kind  things  which  you  have  said  and  done  for  him 
throughout  his  brief  but  happy  life." 

"  Don't  mention  'em,  Samuel — don't-!"  cried  the  faithful  old 
creature.  "  I'm  sure  you  were  always  a  very  good  boy,  and  it 
did  my  heart  good  to  be  as  kind  to  you  as  I  could.  But  pray 
don't  mention  'em — don't !" 

And  yet  the  dear  soul  knew  that  it  almost  made  her  burst 
with  mingled  joy  and  pride  to  think  that  Samuel  not  only  remem 
bered,  but  spoke  of  them,  too. 

Samuel  smilingly  shook  his  head.  He  understood  her  fond, 
simple  heart. 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  old  time,  Betsy,"  he  asked,  "  when  you, 
and  mother,  and  I  used  to  romp  among  the  hills,  while  father 
was  composing  in  his  study  f 

"  Oh !  dear — yes  !"  cried  the  housekeeper,  smiling  through  her 
tears. 

"  And  how  you  and  mother  used  to  drag  me  in  the  little  wagon 
which  pa  gave  me  on  my  birthday ;  how  I  used  to  hold  the  reins 
which  mamma  made  for  me,  and  flourish  the  little  whip  which 
you  gave  to  me  on  your  birthday,  and  how  I  used  to  cry  '  Gee 
up,  my  horsey-wows  V  " 

"Oh!  my  dear  boy!" 

"  How  we  used  to  go  off  in  the  woods,  and  play  hide-and-go- 
seek  among  the  tall  trees — father  going  sometimes  with  us,  and 
joining  in  the  sport ;  and  after  play  was  over,  telling  us,  you, 
and  mother,  and  me,  as  we  listened  to  him,  of  all  the  beautiful 
handiworks  of  God  ;  how  each  had  their  individual  duties  to  per 
form,  and  their  missions  to  fulfil— the  tall  trees,  the  fallen  leaves, 
the  birds,  the  insects,  the  flowers,  yea,  the  very  loam  itself,  and 
all — as  if  they  were  human  beings  like  ourselves ;  and  how  we 


500         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

used  to  sit  and  hang  upon  his  sweet  words,  so  full  of  truthfulness 
and  beauty !" 

"  Oh  !  Samuel— Samuel !"  sobbed  the  housekeeper.  "  I'll  cry 
if  you  go  on  so.  Yes,  I  will.  Why,  you  were  a  little, 'teeny, 
weeny  fellow  then — the,  brightest  and  lovingest  in  all  Enfield  !" 

Samuel  smiled. 

"  Then  our-  gambols  through  the  bright,  green  fields,  chasing 
the  butterflies  and  the  grasshoppers.  Don't  you  remember  how 
you  used  to  let  me  beat  you,  and  how  you  pretended  that  it  was 
with  my  own  little  legs?  And  then  in  kite-time,  how  you 
used  to  show  me  how  to  raise  mine,  and  how  to  pay  out  the 
string,  until  the  old  kite  was  away  up  almost  as  high  as  the 
clouds  ?  Ah  !  those  were  happy  days,  Betsy.  What  rompers 
we  were  then !  The  dear  old  hills,  with  their  green  slopes,  and 
their  sunny  tops,  methinks  I  see  them  now,  as  then ;  and  the 
green  fields,  too,  with  their  rich  earthen  odor,  which  I  scent  even 
now !" 

He  paused ;  he  was  growing  feebler  and  paler  with  each  suc 
ceeding  moment. 

"Be  kind  to  father,  and  mother,  and  Miriam,  and  Ada,"  he 
said,  after  a  few  moments.  "  And  now,  kiss  me !" 

Mr.  Townsend  looked  at  his  wife  with  a  glance  which  said, 
"  The  end  is  approaching  of  our  young  friend." 

Mrs.  Townsend  was  pale.  Her  husband  regarded  her  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence,  and  then  whispered — 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Townsend  shook  her  head  —  without,  however,  with 
drawing  her  eyes  from  the  great  Christian  light  which  was  slowly 
waning  on  the  couch. 

"  She  is  affected  —poor  thing !"  muttered  the  merchant. 

"  Miriam — a  drink !"  said  Samuel. 

It  was  given  him,  and  he  breathed  easier. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  501 

"  My  time  is  approaching,"  he  said,  with  a  serene  smile.  "  If 
there  are  any  here  to  whom  I  have  ever  brought  a  single  tear, 
or  a  solitary  pang,  forgive  me.  If  there  are  any.  here  who  have 
ever  done  me  wrong,  in  word,  or  thought,  or  deed,  1  forgive 
them.  Peace  on  earth — good-will  to  man  !" 

"  Friends,"  said  the  pastor,  in  a  shaken  voice,  "  let  us  pray  !" 

All  knelt,  and  the  clergyman  sent  up  a  touching  petition  to 
the  Most  High.  At  its  close,  the  pastor  rose  and  approached 
the  bedside ;  but  Miriam  was  there  before  him,  her  arm  around 
the  young  Christian's  neck. 

The  tender-hearted  father  sighed. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured,  "  she  has  the  best  right.  Poor  girl — 
poor  girl !" 

Mrs.  Leland  fell  upon  his  breast. 

A  pause  followed ;  a  pause,  not  of  sjlence,  but  of  sobs,  of 
heart-stirring  sighs,  of  glittering  tears. 

The  face  of  the  dying  Christian  grew  paler  and  paler.  His 
large,  dark  eyes,  bright  with  joy,  appeared  to  be  fixed  upon 
some  object  invisible  to  all  but  himself.  His  attent  ears 
quivered,  as  if  struggling  to  catch  the  slightest  vibrations  of  sweet 
harmonies  upon  the  air. 

"  Music !"  he  murmured,  softly.  "  Do  you  not  hear  it?  Mu 
sic  !  Oh,  how  melodious  !  Spirit  forms,  preceded  by  seraph 
bands,  are  coming  up  to  meet  me,  and — Our  Prince  is  at  their 
head !  He  dazzles  me  with  His  brightness ! 

"  Hark  !  they  sing.  Their  voices  mingle  with  the  harps,  the 
pipes,  the  timbrels.  Oh,  how  sweet,  how  glorious — how  stir 
ring  ! 

"  I  see  faces  that  I  have  known — forms  that  I  have  loved ; 
Joseph,  too — among  the  seraphs.  He  is  blind  no  more.  And 
little  Robert,  too — his  sorrow  all  gone — his  eyes  radiant.  O, 
how  beautiful ! 

"Behold!'7  he  cried,  rising  with   the  last  spark  of  expiring 


502          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

energy,  and  supporting  himself  with  his  left  hand,  while  he 
pointed  upward  with  the  other,  "  behold  that  dazzling  host ! 
They  are  coming  for  me — rejoicing  as  they  advance.  Come,  let 
us  join  in  their  glad  song — '  Glory,  glory  to  Thee,  O  my  Re 
deemer  !  Hosanna !  hosanna  to  the  Highest  P  " 

His  arm  fell  from  under  him,  and  he  dropped  back  upon  his 
pillow,  motionless — his  face  beaming,  shadowingly,  with  angelic 
sweetness,  and  his  eyes  radiant  with  joy. 

But  all  knew,  as  they  looked  upon  that  pale,  sweet  counte 
nance,  that  it  was  as  one  of  marble,  and  that  those  radiant  eyes 
were  as  eyes  of  glass. 

The  spirit  had  shaken  hands  with  its  old  companion  of  clay, 
and  gone  up  to  its  God. 

"The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away,"  said  the 
pastor,  in  a  stirring,  but  quivering  voice.  "  Blessed  be  His  Holy 
name !" 


CHAPTER     LAST, 

THE  reunion  of  the  Brighams  was  only  for  a  brief  season. 
Without  an  innate  moral  tie  to  bind  them,  a  few  months  saw 
their  solemn  promises  broken,  and  themselves  apart.  The  ex- 
confidential  clerk  strongly  desired  to  open  a  jobbing  house,  and, 
as  he  expressed  it,  give  the  Townsends  a  tug.  His  lady  was 
perfectly  willing  that  he  should  do  both,  but  not  at  her  expense. 
"  Her  money,"  she  said,  "  was  settled  upon  herself,  and  she  was 
determined  that  it  should  remain  so.  Mr.  Brigham  married  her 
because  she  was  rich,  and  she  was  not  disposed  to  place  it  in  his 
power  to  render  her  poor.  She  held  the  whip  in  her  own  hand, 
and  she  intended  to  keep  it  there  !" 

Language  like  this  could  end  only  in  one  way — rupture  and 
separation.  So  the  rupture  came,  and  with  it  separation — the 
lady  returning  to  the  Townsends,  who  were  very  glad  of  her 
society,  and — the  use  of  her  money  ;  and  the  gentleman  retiring 
in  disgust  to  the  South,  where  he  turned  gambler,  an  occupation 
which  charmed  him  by  its  excitement.  Three  years  rolled  away ; 
at  the  end  of  which  time,  the  newspapers  announced  that  Mr. 
Brigham  had  fallen  by  the  bowie-knife  of  an  indignant  planter, 
whom  he  had  defrauded  at  play. 

Mrs.  Brigham,  on  hearing  of  his  death,  went  at  once  into  an 
interesting  suit  of  mourning,  which  induced  an  English  gentle 
man,  who  saw  her  at  a  soiree,  to  make  some  inquiries  concerning 
her  "  means  ;"  and  on  learning  that  she  was  set  down  at  eighty 
thousand  dollars,  he  at  once  decided  that  he  could  spend  that 
sum  easily,  and  hastened,  therefore,  to  make  an  impression  upon 

(603) 


504  WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

the  lady's  heart.  How  far  he  succeeded  in  the  latter,  we  have 
no  method  of  ascertaining ;  but  of  one  thing  we  are  satisfied :  he 
led  the  lady,  eventually,  to  the  altar.  The  honeymoon  passed  away 
very  pleasantly ;  but  at  the  end  of  that  period  the  gentleman  found 
that  he  had  committed  a  mistake  in  supposing  that  he  could 
have  the  handling  of  his  wife's  funds.  She  quietly,  but  firmly, 
notified  him  that  that  could  never  be  the  case,  and  the  English 
gentleman  went  off  in  a  huff — naturally  expecting  that  the  lady 
would  call  him  back  and  give  him  what  he  wanted,  upon  con 
dition  that  he  would  kiss  and  make  up.  But  the  ruse  did  not 
succeed ;  and  then  the  gentleman  returned  of  his  own  accord. 
But  Isabella,  or  rather,  Mrs.  Bulkhead,  found,  after  a  while,  that 
her  new  lord  "  wasn't  much."  In  a  note  to  her  old  friend,  Mrs. 
Townsend,  she  stated  that  "the  fellow  was  fond  of  getting  tipsy; 
that  he  spent  three  hours  a  day  in  dressing  and  surveying  him 
self  in  the  glass ;  and  that  he  did  not  appear  to  live  for  anybody 
but  his  tailor."  A  few  years,  however,  released  the  gentleman 
from  his  "  dear,  delightful  torment,"  as  he  was  wont  to  term  his 
better  half,  leaving  her,  as  he  laughingly  remarked  in  his  closing 
moments,  "  equally  as  well  off  in  funds  as  he  had  found  her,  for 
which,  he  thought,  she  ought  to  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  give  him 
a  tip-top  funeral."  Mrs.  Bulkhead  again  returned  to  the  Towns- 
ends,  who,  now  that  they  were  getting  into  years,  felt  the  want  of 
some  one  to  amuse  them.  Mrs.  Bulkhead  pleased  them  satis 
factorily  in  this  respect ;  that  lady  being  as  fretful  and  whim 
sical  as  a  life  without  an  aim,  or  a  heart  that  was  wholly  selfish, 
could  reasonably  be  expected  to  make  her.  One  evening,  at 
tended  by  her  maid,  she  ascended  to  her  apartment  to  dress  foi 
a  party.  When  she  had  completed  her  toilet,  she  dismissed  the 
girl,  and  was  preparing  to  go  down  to  the  drawing-room,  when 
she  was  startled  by  a  pain  in  her  breast.  She  rang  the  bell  for 
her  servant  to  return,  and  then  seated  herself  on  her  bed.  The 
maid  came  in,  but  it  was  to  find  her  mistress  speechless  and 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          505 

staring.  She  hurriedly  called  the  Townsends,  who  as  hurriedly 
summoned  a  physician,  who  dwelt  next  door.  Oat  before  the 
arrival  of  the  latter,  Mrs.  Townsend  had  made  the  discovery  that 
her  friend  was  beyond  human  aid.  "  Disease  of  the  heart !" 
muttered  the  doctor. 

With  the  Townsends  matters  moved  along  as  usual.  They 
waxed  neither  better  nor  worse;  they  increased  in  riches  and  in 
years,  and  with  but  one  ambition — to  be  amused.  Meanwhile, 
the  old  house  went  on,  as  Mr.  Townsend  expressed  it,  with  the 
"  honest  dodge,"  extending  year  after  year  in  customers  and 
wealth.  "  The  thing  paid"  so  well,  that  other  houses  took  it  up, 
and  with  more  or  less  success,  according  to  the  energy  of  their  con 
ductors  ;  but  as  the  majority  of  the  latter  were  previously  noto 
rious  for  everything  but  honesty  or  truthfulness,  dealers  were  shy 
of  them.  "  The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  in  discussing  the  mat 
ter  with  his  wife,  "the  country  trade  are  picking  up  in  sharpness. 
They  are  cautious  whom  they  buy  of.  The  house  that  gouges  them 
once,  will  not  do  it  a  second  time.  And  this  brings  me  to  my 
great  point,  viz. :  It  is  always  important  to  success  to  preserve  an 
appearance  of  honesty.  Lose  that,  and  you  are  gone."  His  wife 
smiled.  "  So,"  continued  the  sagacious  worldling,  *'  in  the  Church 
it  is  always  well  to  preserve  an  appearance  of  piety.  It  helps 
one  wonderfully.  It  assists  you  in  getting  people's  confidence 
and — money.  Besides,  it  secures  one  a  respectable  position  in  the 
best  society.  Well — well,  after  all,  Jane,  there's  nothing  like  a 
judicious  mixture  of  honesty  and  humbug,  of  worldliness  and 
religion.  It  pays  /" 

"  All  the  world  appears  to  think  so,  at  any  rate !"  returned  his 
wife  ;  "  and  it  does  seem  as  if  all  the  world  could  not  be  wrong  !" 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  my  dear — all  right,  depend  upon  it. 
Whatever  pays  is  right — it  must  be  ;  and  when  a  man  doubts 
it,  let  him  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  feel  the  evidence. 
If  the  stuff  is  there,  his  suspicions  are  wrong ;  if  the  stuff  is 

22 


506  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

not  there,  then  he  is  incompetent  to  form  an  opinion.  It  is 
only  those  who  haven't  got  the  raw  material,  and  can't  get  it,  who 
rail  out  against  our  doctrine." 

Mrs.  Townsend  made  no  reply.  In  fact,  she  entertained  her 
self  similar  views  ;  but,  in  moments  of  honest  reflection — and 
these  would  come  sometimes — she  thought  differently,  and  so 
did  her  husband :  but  neither  considered  it  convenient,  JUST 
THEN,  to  encourage  them,  and  so  they  glided  on  into  old  age  and 
its  infirmities,  gracefully  and  respectably. 

One  day,  the  old  lady  was  unusually  meditative. 

"  Any  new  idea  ?"  asked  her  husband,  who  was  now  a  hale, 
hearty,  handsome  gentleman  of  sixty-five,  with  small,  white,  fat 
hand's, -a  sleek,  rosy  face,  and  a  bald,  polished  head,  with  a 
small  silky  fringe  on  each  side. 

"  I'm  thinking,  my  dear,"  returned  his  wife,  "  whether  we  are 
right  in  our  views,  after  all "?" 

The  merchant  looked  at  her  with  his  pleasant  eyes. 

"  You  didn't  sleep  well  last  night !"  he  said,  in  his  calm,  prac 
tical  way. 

Mrs.  Townsend  confessed  that  she  had  not. 

"  Ah !"  laughed  her  husband,  "  that's  it.  I  notice  that  people 
are  apt  to  be  very  thoughtful  on  such  subjects,  after  a  broken 
night.  You  are  weak,  my  dear.  That's  all.  Lay  down  and 
take  a  little  rest,  and  you  will  feel  better.  With  returning 
strength,  will  come  back  your  confidence.  We  are  all  right, 
depend  upon  it !"' 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  John.     At  all  events,  Pll  lay  down." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  a  run  over  to  Trenton,"  said  the  mer 
chant,  "  to  see  one  of  our  customers  who  has  failed  and  made 
an  assignment,  doing  us  out  of  some  thirty-three  hundred.  I'll 
be  back  about  six,  when  I  shall  look  to  find  you  more  cheerful. 
So,  good-bye,  my  dear,  and  make  yourself  comfortable.  Next 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          507 

week,  if  you  say  so,  we'll  take  a  jaunt  to  Virginia,  where  you  will 
rejuvenate  and  get  rid  of  all  this  nonsense." 

"  Well,  take  care  of  yourself,"  said  his  wife,  tenderly,  "  and 
I'll  be  as  cheerful  as  I  can  on  your  return." 

The  old  gentleman  kissed  her,  and  went  his  way,  disturbed, 
in  spite  of  himself,  at  what  he  termed  the  lowness  of  her  spirits. 

Mrs.  Townsend  laid  down,  as  she  had  promised,  but  withoift 
finding  any  relief.  In  fact,  her  thoughts  took  a  severer  range 
than  before.  They  were  no  longer  mere  misgivings — they  were 
so  many  accusing  witnesses. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  uneasily,  "  the  system  is  false ;  I  know 
it — feel  it.  But  I  must  not  think  so  now,  or  I  shall  go  mad. 
I'll  think  of  it  when  1  get  stronger ;  yes,  when  I  am  stronger. 
To-morrow,  perhaps.  Yes,  to-morrow :  for  things  like  this 
ought  not  to  be  delayed.  Yes,  to-morrow  !" 

Ah !  poor  lady,  how  long  have  you  been  saying  this "?  For 
how  many  times,  and  how  many  years'?  To-morrow — ever  to^ 
morrow ! 

The  old  lady  called  her  attendant,  and  said  to  her,  in  a  feeble 
voice — 

"  Get  a  stupid  book,  Susan — the  most  stupid  one  you  can 
find — and  come  and  read  me  to  sleep.  Make  haste.  I  am  suf 
fering  !" 

The  attendant  took  up  a  dull,  heavily  written  history  of  the 
early  races  of  mankind,  and  seating  herself  beside  her  mistress, 
commenced  reading. 

The  history  of  the  early  races  was  not  long  in  answering 
the  object  of  its  reader.  It  had  all  the  essential  qualities  of  a 
soporific.  Long  ere  the  attendant  had  reached  the  close  of  the 
first  chapter,  her  mistress  slept,  with  every  intellectual  faculty 
wrapped  in  calm,  dreamless  repose. 

The  girl  then  descended  to  the  library,  and  selected  a  French 


508         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

novel,  to  reward  herself  for  her  arduous  labor  upon  the  history 
of  the  early  races. 

An  hour  glided  by,  and  then  another,  and  yet  another.  The 
French  novel  was  very  interesting,  and  the  attendant  forgot  all 
about  time.  At  length,  however,  she  put  down  her  book  and 
approached  her  mistress.  The  latter  was  still  asleep ;  calm,  pale, 
and  motionless — but  too  calm,  and  too  pale,  not  to  disturb  the 
girl,  who  remembered  that  she  was  of  late  restless  and  uneasy 
in  her  slumbers.  She  therefore  approached  the  old  lady,  and 
laid  her  hand  softly  upon  her  forehead.  It  was  cold  ! 

The  spirit  had  passed  away  from  that  old,  feeble  form,  while 
she  slept,  as  a  dream  glides  away  from  the  mind. 

J5ut  the  thing  that  was  to  have   been   looked    into    ON    THE 


MORROW 


The  merchant  was  shocked  at  the  discovery,  on  his  return  : 
shocked,  as  a  man  naturally  would  be  under  the  circumstances. 
A  few  days,  however,  brought  him  all  right  again — because  he 
was  a  man  of  a  practical  mind. 

"  After  all,"  he  would  say,  in  his  practical  way,  "  what  is  all 
this  humbug  about  death  7  Stuff — mere  stuff !  When  a  man's 
body  is  worn  out,  he  must  go — that's  all.  Life  won't  stay  in  an 
exhausted  body — it  can't ;  the  animal  vigor  isn't  there  to  sustain 
it;  the  wheels  won't  work,  and  the  man  must  travel — that's  all. 
He'd  stay,  if  he  could ;  but  when  his  body  won't  let  him,  how 
can  he  help  himself?  No,  he  must  start  then,  by  the  first  train. 
To  be  sure,  clergymen  and  writers  make  a  great  fuss  about 
the  matter,  and  succeed  in  frightening  some  weak-headed  people, 
because  it  pays  them  to  do  so.  But  what  do  they  know  about 
it,  more  than  any  one  else  ?  They  are  imaginative  fellows — 
nothing  more  ;  and  we  all  know  what  paltry  stuff  imagination 
is.  Practical  minds  laugh  at  such  rubbish.  Death  1  Humbug 
— all  humbug !  Why,  only  look  at  it  once.  Face  it,  manfully, 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          509 

in  a  sound,  practical  way ;  grapple  with  it,  as  you  would  with 
any  one  of  the  every -day  realities  of  life  !  And  what  does  it 
amount  to,  with  all  their  pother  ?  Simply  to  this  :  a  mere  dis 
solution  of  the  body.  Nothing  more.  That's  what  it  is,  when 
faced  down  by  a  plain,  common-sense  mind,  and  I  don't  pretend 
to  any  more.  The  body  breaks  up  and  dissolves  into  gases, 
which  strengthen  and  enrich  the  earth  — that's  all.  If  the  dead 
man  has  a  soul,  as  they  call  it,  it  goes  somewhere ;  if  he  has 
no  soul,  it  don't  go  anywhere.  There's  the  whole  story  in  a  nut 
shell,  as  examined  by  the  light  of  common  sense.  To  be  sure, 
certain  persons  wrill  tell  you  of  the  comfort  which  they  find  in 
religion.  1  had  a  very  fine  young  man  with  me  once,  by  the  name 
of  Samuel  Leland,  who  used  to  talk  very  eloquently  upon  it, 
and  who  succeeded  in  persuading  a  great  many  over  to  the  same 
opinion — but,  after  all,  what  does  that  argue  1  The  human  heart 
is  so  happily  constituted  that  it  can  find  comfort  in  any  thing. 
Some  find  it  in  a  large  business,  some  in  a  small  one,  others  in 
dress,  others  in  pleasure,  and  others,  again,  in  religion.  But  after 
all,  sir,  the  only  solid  comfort  is  in  that  which  enables  you  to 
feel  the  ground  under  you,  to  buy  what  you  please,  go  where  you 
please,  do  as  you  please,  and  whack  whom  you  please,  because 
you  have  got  the  raw  material  in  your  pocket  to  pay  for  it — 
MONEY!  That,  sir,  is  the  legitimate  article.  Who  has  it  in 
plenty,  is  solid,  sir — solid.  Rocks  can't  move  him  !  Show  me 
an  imaginative  man,  and  I'll  show  you,  in  him,  a  fellow  who  can't 
pay  his  notes.  Why,  sir,  one  good  practical  man  could  buy  up 
a  thousand  such,  any  day,  and  not  feel  that  he  had  done  much, 
either.  No — the  only  substantial  comfort  is  in  Money — THAT 
is  what  I  call  practical  comfort.  Ha !  ha !  Something  in  that 
—hey,  sir  1" 

Sixty-five  —  sixty-six!  How  steadily,  how  mercilessly,  the 
pendulum  of  human  life  ticks  on  !  If  some  smart  mind  would 
but  devise  a  plan  by  which  the  clock  of  man's  day  could  be  put 


510         WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

back  from  sixty-six  to  thirty,  now  !  What  millions  would  flow 
in  to  him  !  Or,  if  some  sharp  Yankee  would  but  invent  a  ma 
chine  which  would  enable  a  sixty-six  nian  to  always  remain  at 
sixty-six.  That  would  do  ! 

How  much  more  honestly  a  man  will  think  at  sixty-six  than 
at  sixty-five !  The  idea  smites  him  then — steals  in  upon  him, 
as  it  were,  and  hits  him,  suddenly,  like  a  fierce,  rude  blow  from 
the  hand  of  some  sneaking,  cowardly  bruiser — that  he  is  one 
year  nearer  to  his  jumping-off  place,  and— he  don't  like  it! 
Well,  the  thought  isn't  pleasant — is  it?  Particularly  if  one  is 
by  no  means  satisfied  of  where  he  will  land  when  he  takes  his 
leap !  If  a  man  has  such  a  thing  as  a  soul,  as  our  old  friend, 
John  P.  Townsend,  used  to  say,  it  goes  somewhere — THEN.  Eh  ? 
And  he  is  likely — very  likely— to  find  it  out.  Eh  ?  But  if  he 
only  discovers  the  fact  of  his  soul's  existence  after  he  has  taken 
his  jump  !  Eh  ? 

What  an  insidious  serpent  Rheumatism  is !  How  gently,  quietly, 
and  stealthily  it  creeps  in  upon  a  man,  and  snugly  ensconces  itself 
in  some  inconvenient  corner  of  his  body — never  making  its 
presence  known  until  it  is  so  firmly  rooted  that  it  can  laugh  at 
all  efforts  of  its  victim  to  dislodge  it.  Then,  old  boy,  look  out! 
Don't  move  your  arm  too  freely ;  if  you  do,  you  will  feel  some 
thing  in  your  shoulder.  Pull  on  your  glove  gently  ;  if  you 
don't,  you  will  feel  something  in  your  fingers.  Be  careful  how 
you  draw  on  that  stocking,  or  you  will — ah — ugh  !  Holloa  ! 
what  are  you  about?  My  leg — my  toes.  Agh!  Some  lini 
ment — quick,  rascal !  Now  bathe  it — flannel  it — soothe  it  down, 
gently.  There — that's  better.  Now,  rascal,  remember  what 
you  are  doing  in  future.  There's  a  dollar  for  you,  you  dog. 
But  if  you  ever  serve  me  in  that  careless  way  again.  I'll  break 
every  bone  in  your  body.  Ah-ugh — there  it  is  again.  Oh  !  this 
is  terrible.  Ah  !  it's  easing  off  a  little.  There  —  it's  better. 
Get  me  a  glass  of  wine — I'm  exhausted ! 


WHICH  :   THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.         511 

Sixty-six — sixty-seven  I 

Old  gentleman  not  quite  so  hearty.  Begins  to  think  tnat  his 
system  is  undergoing  a  change,  not  for  the  better.  Has  a  sus 
picion  that  if  he  withdrew  from  the  cares  and  excitements  of 
business,  it  would  be  "  better  for  him."  Don't  like  to  do  so, 
however — feels  that  he  has  a  fond  affection  for  the  old  house  and 
its  interests ;  enjoys  the  pride  of  being  the  head  of  so  vast  an 
establishment.  But  health — that  is  to  say — life  ! 

Ah !  life  before  business.    Sells  out  to  old  partner,  and — retires. 

Finds,  however,  that  retirement  don't  suit  him.  Feels  the 
need  of  excitement,  but  thinks  the  feverish  excitement  of  business 
would  be  too  exciting.  Joins  a  riding-school ;  but  discovers  that 
that  won't  do  :  his  system  can't  stand  it.  Is  told  that  a  certain 
gymnasium  does  wonders  for  old  men — rejuvenates  them,  reani 
mates,  re-endows  them  with  amazing  animal  vigor.  Bravely 
determines  to  give  it  a  trial  for  one  year.  Pays  a  twelvemonth's 
fees,  has  a  gymnast's  suit  made,  and — breaks  down,  despairingly, 
in  the  first  lesson.  Discovers  that  his  system  is  knocked  up,  and 
concludes  that  rest  would  be  the  best  thing  for  him.  Determines 
on  rest. 

Finds  that  his  housekeeper  is  not  a  companion.  Misses  his 
wife ;  thinks  she  might  have  done  better  than  to  die  and  leave 
him — misses  her  very  much.  Got  along,  miserably  enough,  after 
her  death,  even  with  the  assistance  of  business  excitement  to 
divert  him ;  but  now,  now  that  he  is  confined  to  the  house,  feels 
her  absence. 

Realizes  the  want  of  a  companion ;  of  one  who  will  understand 
him,  nurse  him,  and — take  care  of  him.  Watches  housekeeper, 
to  see  if  she  would  answer—notices  her  carefully  ;  observes  that 
she  is  a  mere  block — cold,  selfish,  and — occasionally  impertinent. 
Concludes  that  she  won't  do. 

Reflects.  Converses  with  his  friends,  who  suggest  to  him  the 
propriety  of  his  marrying  some  young  woman.  Old  gentleman 


512  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

shakes  his  head — thinks  no  young  woman  would  like  to  marry  an 
old  man  like  him.  Friends  reply  that  it  is  quite  common  for  young 
women  to  marry  worn-out  old  men,  on  condition  that  the  latter 
pay  them  well,  and  leave  them  a  stipulated  proportion  of  their 
property  in  their  wills.  Retired  merchant  ponders  the  matter 
over,  and  thinks  he  won't  do  anything  of  the  kind.  And  yet  he 
perceives  that  he  must  have  some  one  to  take  care  of  him. 
Notices  that  housekeeper  is  throwing  out  lures  to  entrap  him ; 
but  pretends  not  to  perceive  them.  Is  privately  of  the  opinion 
that  he  hates  THAT  woman. 

Housekeeper  changes  her  tactics,  and  does  all  she  can  to  make 
old  gentleman  miserable.  Removes  his  little  comforts — gradually 
brings  the  servants  round  to  pay  little  or  no  attention  to  any  one 
but  herself.  Makes  old  gentleman  feel  the  want  of  some  one  to 
look  after  him.  Puts  on  airs — imperious  ones,  as  if  she  were 
the  mistress  of  the  mansion  and  of  its  owner's  destiny.  Old 
gentleman  apparently  submits — meanwhile  thinks,  and — lays  his 
plans. 

One  day  housekeeper  is  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  three 
young  blacks;  brave,  oily,  crafty  fellows,  whose  special  business 
is  to  guard  the  interests  and  protect  the  comforts  of  old  gentle 
man.  One  is  to  attend  the  door  in  the  place  of  the  old  porter, 
who  is  kicked  out ;  to  faithfully  deliver  all  letters,  and  see  that 
none  are — intercepted.  (Housekeeper  winces,  and  turns  pale  ; 
perceives  that  she  has  made  a — mistake !)  Second  is  to  take  up 
the  letters  and  visitors'  cards,  deliver  them  to  the  third,  and 
perform  all  the  errands  which  the  latter  may  order.  Third  is  to 
wait  upon  old  gentleman  himself;  watch  him,  nurse  him,  take 
care  of  him. 

Neither  John  —  number  one,  William  —  number  two,  nor 
Robert — number  three,  are  to  pay  any  attention  to  housekeeper, 
whatever ;  but  the  latter  and  all  hands  shall  give  implicit  obedi 
ence  to  Robert — number  three.  Housekeeper  indignant,  but 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  513 

cool;    knows  she  is  well  paid,   and  thinks  that  that  is  worth 
remembering.     Concludes  to  play  the  amiable. 

Old  gentleman  chuckles  at  the  result;  and  thinks  he  has  at 
length  got  everything  fixed  to  his  mind.  Finds  out,  however,  in  a 
few  weeks,  that  Robert  is  somewhat  disposed  to  regard  himself 
as  an  individual  of  great  consequence.  In  fact,  the  new  regime 
is  simply  a  change  in  bullies.  Old  gentleman  gets  excited,  and 
privately  concludes  that  of  the  two,  he  would  rather  be  under 
petticoat  rule ;  but  is  so  well  broken  in  by  both  parties,  that  he 
does  not  deem  it  advisable  to  make  his  opinion  known.  Mean 
while,  he  thinks,  and  is  at  length  struck  with  an  idea,  which  fills 
him  with  joy.  Hurrah  !  he  sees  his  way  at  last !  a  beautiful  idea. 
Why  did  it  not  occur  to  him  before  1  He  writes — 

"Mr  DEAR  MIRIAM — I  want  a  housekeeper;  one  who  will  take 
charge  of  my  house,  and  of  its  owner ;  one  who  understands  me, 
and  who  will  be  to  me  at  once  a  daughter  and  a  friend.  Come, 
my  dear  niece,  come  and  be  my  heir.  Think — a  million  for 
simply  taking  care,  a  few  years,  of  YOUR  OLD  UNCLE." 

A  few  days,  and  he  receives  an  affectionate  letter,  stating  that 
the  writer  would  come  cheerfully,  not  for  his  money's  sake,  but 
for  his  own,  and  in  acknowledgment  of  the  many  years  of  kind 
ness  which  she  had  experienced  while  under  his  guardianship  aud 
the  shelter  of  his  roof;  but  that,  owing  to  the  age  and  infirmities 
of  tier  parents,  whose  delicate  health  requires  her  constant  atten 
tion,  and  to  the  necessity  of  watching  over  the  education  of  Ada, 
her  daughter,  she  was  unable  to  do  so.  In  case,  however,  he 
should  ever  be  taken  with  illness,  she  would  then  consider  it  a 
duty  to  fly  to  his  assistance. 

Old  gentleman  very  much  disturbed  by  this  letter,  which 
upsets  all  his  hopes.  Becomes  despondent.  Wonders  what 
money  is  good  for,  since  even  a  million  won't  tempt  the  only 
22* 


514  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

being  that  he  loves  in  the  world  to  come  and  take  care  of  him. 
If  she  only  would  come,  how  comfortably,  how  very  comfortably, 
he  would  get  along  ! 

The  days  roll  by  gloomily.  Black  man  gradually  tightens 
the  rein.  Old  gentleman  becomes  restive,  and  thinks  of  rebel 
ling  ;  but  black  man's  eye  is  on  him — menacingly :  old  gen 
tleman  apparently  gives  in,  and — thinks.  Sends  for  Mr.  Crit- 
tenden,  talks  with  him  in  a  low  tone,  which  black  man  don't  like. 
Mr.  Crittenden  retires,  and  black  man  looks  sulky.  In  an  hour 
Mr.  Crittenden  returns,  accompanied  by  a  young  Englishman  who 
has  been  strongly  recommended  to  him  for  honesty,  truthfulness, 
and  capacity  :  young  man  was  brought  over  from  London  by  an 
English  family,  in  whose  service  he  had  been  for  many  years, 
and  who  were  grieved  to  part  with  him,  but  were  compelled  to 
do  so  by  their  pecuniary  inability  to  keep  him.  Black  man 
kicked  out,  Englishman  installed ;  housekeeper  still  amiable. 
Everything  moves  smoothly — old  gentleman  apparently  com 
fortable. 

Housekeeper  gradually  makes  up  to  John,  the  new  man,  who 
is  young,  but  "  knows  on  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered,"  and  is 
therefore  rather  shy.  Housekeeper,  however,  is  artful,  and 
works  upon  him  step  by  step — entrapping  him  at  length.  House 
keeper  and  new  man  concoct  a  plan  to  inveigle  old  gentleman 
into  marrying  the  former,  who  will  then  "  send  old  gentleman  off" 
right  speedily,  and  marry  John,  who  will  then  be  rich.  Mean 
while,  both  harmoniously  agree  that,  as  the  best  devised  schemes 
are  frequently  thwarted  by  simple  and  unlooked-for  incidents, 
that  they  might  as  well  provide  against  all  contingencies  by 
each  making  it  a  special  business  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  pre 
vent  the  old  gentleman  from  leaving  too  much. 

Old  gentleman  very  much  disturbed  by  his  rheumatism,  as  well 
as  at  the  changes  which  are  going  on  in  his  system.  Wonders 
if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  punishment  in  the  future,  after  all  1 


WHICH  :    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          515 

Hopes  not,  any  how.  Makes  an  heroic  effort  to  consider  that  sort 
of  thing  mere  bosh,  which  preachers  deal  out  for  so  much  per 
annum.  Thinks  the  Universalist  doctrine,  that  all  men  will  be 
saved  because  Christ  died  for  all,  a  very  reasonable  and  comfort 
ing  one.  But  then  SAMUEL  had  a  different  opinion ;  and  Miriam 
holds  to  Samuel's  view,  and  Mr.  Crittenden  also,  viz., — that 
heaven  is  only  to  be  attained  through  repentance  and  faith  in  the 
atoning  blood  of  Christ,  and  that  without  these,  there  is  but  one 
destination  for  the  soul — HELL  ! 

Old  gentleman  very  much  distressed.  Don't  like  to  believe 
in  that  doctrine.  It  isn't  pleasant.  According  to  it,  man's  prin 
cipal  business  on  earth  would  be,  not  to  make  money,  but  to — 
prepare  for  heaven.  "  Fudge — ridiculous — tell  that  to  children  !" 

Housekeeper  comes  in,  and  is  very  amiable. 

"  Mrs.  Rodgers,  what  do  you  think  of  the  future  ?" 

Housekeeper  knows  old  gentleman's  sentiments  very  well, 
and  answers  accordingly.  She  thinks  all  men  will  be  saved. 

Old  gentleman  agrees  with  her,  and  wonders  how  he  ever  dis 
liked  a  woman  who  held  such  liberal  views  ! 

Housekeeper  talks  with  him  a  little  while,  and  then  retires, 
leaving  a  good  impression  behind. 

Old  gentleman's  system  grows  no  better ;  rheumatism  adds 
its  torments,  and  old  gentleman  thinks  he  will  be  compelled  ere 
long  to  take  to  his  bed,  and—stay  there.  Meanwhile  grows  irri 
table,  and  finds  some  small  relief  in  calling  John  a  rascal,  and 
the  housekeeper  a  vixen,  both  of  whom  wonder  whether  he  sus 
pects  anything. 

Sunny  morning.  Old  gentleman  cheerful.  For  a  week  house 
keeper  has  been  exceedingly  amiable,  which  has  left  an  impres 
sion  upon  the  mind  of  old  gentleman,  who  remarks  to  John,, 
that  she  is  very  good  to  him  of  late.  John  laughs,  and  winkingly 
replies  that  he  thinks  he  comprehends  the  reason.  Old  gentleman 
would  like  to  know  it.  John  is  under  the  impression  that 


516          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

housekeeper  is  troubled  in  the  heart  about  some  one — she  is  all 
the  time  sighing.  Old  gentleman  is  smilingly  incredulous  ;  but 
John  knows  it — yes,  sir,  knows  it. 

Old  gentleman  looks  in  the  glass,  and  begins  to  spruce  up ; 
thinks  that  he  has  been  giving  himself  a  great  deal  of  useless 
anxiety,  and  that  he  isn't  so  very  old,  after  all. 

New  man  thinks  so  too — yes,  szV,  he  has  been  thinking  so  h'all 
h'along ! 

Old  gentleman  laughs,  throws  him  a  dollar,  tells  him  to  go 
away  with  his  nonsense,  and  attempts  to  cut  a  caper,  but  is  im 
mediately  brought  down  to  a  realizing  sense  of  his  actual  situa 
tion  by  a  fierce,  sharp  shock  of  his  old  enemy — rheumatism. 
Screams  with  pain  ;  housekeeper  runs  in,  very  much  concerned ; 
learns  his  trouble,  and  orders  John  to  bathe  him  gently  with  the 
liniment,  and  departs,  with  an  air  of  anguish,  audibly  regretting 
that  she  is  not  in  a  position  to  take  care  of  the  poor  dear  sufferer 
herself.  Old  gentleman  looks  after  her,  thinks  her  an  angel  of 
mercy,  and — sighs.  John  turns  his  head,  and — laughs. 

Old  gentleman  persists,  however,  in  sprucing  up.  But  gloomy 
November  days  come  along,  and  his  spirits  decline.  Wonders 
if  the  soul  has  any  existence  at  all,  after  death.  Hopes  it  hasn't, 
that  is,  in  case  the  Universalist  idea  that  all  men  will  be  saved 
should  not  be  true. 

"  John,  what  is  your  candid  opinion  about  the  future  ]  Does 
a  man  dissolve  into  gases,  and  so  become  extinct,  or  what  ?" 

"  I  have  never  given  the  subject  much  consideration,  sir.  But 
I  think  he  does  /" 

"  Does  .what,  rascal  1" 

"Vanish  into  gases,  sir  !"  returns  John,  on  a  venture. 

"  But  his  soul,  rascal — his  soul  ?" 

"  Ah  !  sir,  I  have  never  given  myself  any  trouble  about  that  P* 

"  Why  not  r 

"  Because — because — yes,  sir,  because  !" 


WHICH:  THE  RIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          517 

"  Because  what,  rascal  ?" 

"  Because  nobody  does,  sir ;  or  if  they  pretend  to,  it's  only  for 
show,  sir.  Why,  only  look  at  it,  sir.  The  minister  preaches  a 
sermon  on  charity,  which  is  so  very  affecting  that  it  makes  the 
congregation  weep  like  little  children.  Well,  sir,  the  very  next 
day  a  poor  woman  or  child  knocks  at  that  very  minister's  door, 
and  says — '  A  shilling,  or  a  piece  of  bread,  sir  ;  I'm  starving/ 
And  what  does  the  minister  say,  sir — he  who  preached  so  elo 
quently  the  day  before  on  charity  ?  Just  this,  sir — *  Go  away, 
good  woman,  and  don't  come  here  any  more ;  if  you  do,  I'll 
call  the  police.'  The  same  way  with  the  congregation,  sir ; 
only  instead  of  saying  they'll  call  the  police,  they  tell  the  poor 
thing,  rudely,  to  '  clear  out !'  The  same  way  in  everything  else, 
sir.  '  We  ought  to  be  humble  and  pious,'  says  the  minister. 
*  Yes,  we  must  be  humble  and  pious,'  say  his  hearers,  and  they 
go  home — the  minister  to  congratulate  himself  upon  his  elo 
quence  and  sumptuous  living,  the  congregation  to  prepare  for 
another  week  of  knavery,  and  routes,  and  show,  and  pride." 

"  Too  true,  John — too  true.  They  are  humble  and  pious  only 
one  day  in  the  week." 

"  That's  it,  sir — only  one  day  in  the  week.  Now,  if  the  min 
ister  believed  what  he  preaches,  sir,  he'd  act  up  to  it — wouldn't 
he,  sir  ?  And  if  his  congregation  believed  it,  they'd  act  up  to  it, 
too.  But  neither  of  'em  does,  sir  ;  which  goes  to  prove  that  if 
neither  of  them  believe  in  it,  I  needn't  believe  in  it,  either !" 

"  Right,  rascal — right.  It  is  so,  it  must  be  so ;  or  all  the  world 
wouldn't  act  so." 

"  That's  it,  sir — that's  just  what  I  say,  too.  And  therefore, 
sir,  the  idea  that  what  nobody  believes  in  or  acts  up  to  can  be 
true,  is  all  gammon,  sir." 

"  I  almost  agree  with  you,  rascal.     It  does  look  so,  indeed  !" 

"  And,  sir,"  said  the  new  man,  "  that  brings  us  back  to  where 
we  started  from." 


618          WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Where  was  that,  John  ?" 

"  To  the  gases,  sir.  We  do  all  dissolve  into  gases,  sir,  and 
that's  the  end  of  us  !" 

"  You  are  a  very  sensible  man,  John,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
rejoicing  to  find  his  uneasy  doubts  so  triumphantly  removed, 
"  and  there's  a  dollar  for  you  !" 

John  smiles,  and  old  gentleman  thinks  he  will  lay  down  and 
take  a  nap.  Servant  enters  with  a  letter,  and  gives  it  to  new 
man,  who  hands  it  to  his  master,  who,  notwithstanding  his  con 
versation  with  John,  feels  the  very  reverse  of  comfort 
able.  Breaks  the  seal,  and  glancing  over  the  letter,  mum 
bles— 

"  So,  from  Enfield.  Ha  !  from  Miriam.  Dear  girl ;  I  was 
afraid  she  had  forgotten  me  !  Let  me  see.  Mum — mum — Ada 
well,  and  rich  in  spiritual  promise — mum — mum — Mr.  Leland 
confined  to  his  bed,  but  cheerful,  resigned,  happy — mum — mum. 
Mrs.  Leland  cheerful,  fond,  happy — mum — both  waiting  for  the 
blissful  hour  when  they  shall  rejoin  their  and  our  dear  Samuel — 
mum — mum — Aunt  Betsy — ripe  old  age — cheerful — tranquil — 
happy — mum — mum — mum — I  am  myself  happy — mum — re 
joice  to  learn  that  our  dear  friend,  Mr.  Crittenden,  is  well,  and 
doing  so  much  good  for  the  cause  of  Our  Prince — mum — it  is  a 
blessing  to  be  rich,  it  enables  us  to  do  so  much  good — mum — 
mlirn — Jear  uncle,  how  is  it  with  you — all  well  within1?  Do 
tell  me — father,  mother,  Aunt  Betsy,  Ada,  and  I  pray  for  you 
every  night — mum — your  loving  Miriam  !" 

"  Anything  the  matter,  sir  ?" 

"Eh?" 

"  Bad  news,  sir  V 

«  What  r 

"  I  was  fearful  something  had  happened,  sir,  seeing  your  lids 
were  wet !" 

"  Are  they — are  they,  John?" 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          519 

"  Yes,  sir — very  wet — very  !  Shall  I  help  you  to  some  drink, 
sir  r 

"  Ye-yes — a  little  wine — just  a  drop.  A  man's  memories 
will  come  up,  and  his  feelings  work  up,  sometimes,  John !  Take 
care  of  me — take  good  care  of  me,  John — and  you  will  find  your 
name  and  a  nice  little  sugar-plum,  in  a  certain  document,  one  of 
these  days." 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir ;  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  I  am  sure.  Cheer  up,  sir !  you  are  worth  fifty  common 
men  yet!" 

"  Do  you  think  so,  John  —  you  jolly  dog !  —  do  you  really 
think  so  ?  Really  ?" 

"  Really,  sir.     I  know  it !" 

"Do  you,  though !  There's  an  eagle  for  you,  rascal.  Now  go 
away  ;  I  want  to  sleep." 

Dusk — night — dawn.  Invalid  pale,  feeble,  and  covered  with 
cold  moisture. 

"  How  do  I  look  this  morning,  John  ?" 

"  Like  a  top,  sir.  Eyes  bright,  skin  clear — at  least  ten  years 
younger,  sir." 

"  But  it  appears  to  me  I've  been  sweating,  John  V 

*'  All  right,  sir ;  showing  that  you've  had  a  desperate  struggle 
with  your  rheumatism,  and  come  off  conqueror." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that !     I've  a  singular  sensation." 

"  What  sort  of  a  sensation,  sir  1" 

"  As  if  my  system  was  breaking  up." 

"  Take  a  glass  of  wine,  sir." 

u  No  ;  put  it  back,  and  send  for  the  doctor." 

Doctor  comes,  prescribes  a  powder,  which  patient  takes,  and 
thinks  he  feels  much  better.  Housekeeper  very  amiable,  and  so 
wears  away  a  week :  when  the  sun  bursts  out,  and  the  atmosphere 
clears  up,  and  becomes  milder.  Old  gentleman  much  stronger, 
and  inclined  to  believe  that  he  will  come  out  all  right,  yet. 


520          WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

But  the  gloomy  days  corne  again,  and  the  poor  old  gentle 
man's  uneasiness  returns.  Thinks  that  there  may  be  a  heaven 
and  a  hell,  and  that  the  ministers  may  not  be  so  far  out  of  the 
way,  after  all.  Turns  again  to  John,  who  reassures  him  that  the 
soul  business  is  all  gammon,  and  that  when  a  maa-dissolves  into 
gases,  that's  the  end  of  him.  Old  gentleman  gives  him  a  dollar 
for  the  consolation,  for  which  new  man  thanks  him  very  much. 

Meanwhile,  housekeeper  grows  killingly  amiable.  Old  gentle 
man  grows  more  and  more  convinced  that  she  is  a  very  excel 
lent,  affectionate,  and,  as  she  entertains  the  same  views  with 
himself  in  reference  to  the  gases,  right-minded  woman.  Finds 
himself,  at  least  once  a  day,  tempted  to  make  her  an  offer  of  his 
hand. 

"  I  want  some  one  to  look  after  me,"  he  thinks,  and  justly ; 
"  some  one  who  understands  me.  John  is  very  good  in  his  way, 
and  does  all  he  can  to  make  me  comfortable ;  but  then  he  hasn't 
the  quick  eye,  the  noiseless,  quiet  tread,  nor  the  ready  hand  of 
a  woman.  Women  understand  these  matters  better  than  men. 
There  are  a  thousand  little  things  in  managing  an  old,  sick  man, 
which  a  man  would  never  think  of,  but  which  come  to  women 
intuitively.  Men  are  but  clumsy  things  in  these  matters.  I 
must  have  a  nurse — yes,  sooner  or  later,  it  must  come  to  that. 
Mrs.  Rodgers,  now,  appears  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  me ;  and 
if  I  could  only  persuade  myself  that  she  would  not  desert  me, 
tyrannize  over  me,  or  neglect  me,  after  marriage,  I'd  settle  the 
matter  at  once.  But — " 

He  broke  off  here.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  a  belief 
in  the  genuineness  of  the  housekeeper's  goodness.  He  made  an 
effort  to  do  so,  for  several  days,  but  could  not  succeed.  He 
remembered  her  conduct  before  the  arrival  of  the  blacks,  and 
shuddered. 

"  After  all,"  he  murmured,  "  there  is  no  principle  except  that 
which  is  based  upon  religion." 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.         521 

And  he  thought  of  the  principle  which  governed  Samuel  and 
Miriam,  and  sighed. 

In  contrast  with  these  two  pure  beings,  loomed  up  before  him. 
the  two  hollow  creatures  who  pandered,  daily,  to  his  own  un 
founded  and  delusive  thoughts. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  said,  near  him,  at  this  juncture,  a  low 
voice,  which  was  intended  to  be  very  sweet  and  alluring. 

The  old  gentleman  started,  as  if  he  had  heard  the  hiss  of  a 
serpent.  He  surveyed  the  housekeeper  for  a  moment  or  two 
with  an  air  of  measureless  loathing,  and  then  said — 

"  Begone,  and  never  set  foot  in  my  presence  again  till  I  send 
for  you.  Go  !"  he  added,  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

Mrs.  Rogers  turned  pale,  bit  her  lip,  and  hurling  at  him  a 
threatening  glance,  retired,  without  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"  So,"  mused  the  old  gentleman,  noticing  her  glance,  "  she  has 
hoisted  her  true  colors.  But  let  her  beware — I  am  not  wholly 
powerless,  yet !"  He  paced  his  chamber  in  deep  thought,  utterly 
unconscious  of  the  agitated  state  of  his  frame.  From  the 
abstractedness  of  his  air,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  pursuing  an 
idea.  At  length  he  reached  that  point  where  thought  terminates 
in  decision.  "  Well,"  he  muttered,  audibly,  and  with  an  energy 
which  had  of  late  been  a  stranger  to  him,  "  there  shall  be  no 
more  of  this.  I'll  end  it  at  once !" 

He  passed,  with  a  step  which  might  have  been  considered 
firm,  but  for  a  certain  slight  quivering  in  his  joints,  from  the 
apartment,  and  descended  to  the  drawing-room.  As  he  drew 
near  the  door,  he  overheard  the  words — 

"  The  old  fool  shall  pay  for  this.  I — I'll  strangle  him  in  his 
sleep !" 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  housekeeper. 

"  No  you  won't,  madam,"  said  her  master,  gliding  into  the 
apartment.  "You  will  have  time  to  think  better  of  it!" 

The  guilty  woman  started,  and  turned  pale. 


522  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Is  it  you,  sir  T'  she  said,  recovering  herself  quickly,  and 
assuming  a  fawning  tone.  "  Why,  how  well  you  look  !  You  are 
quite  recovered." 

"  John  !"  said  her  master,  sternly. 

"Yes,  sir!"  returned  that  worthy,  with  the  air  of  a  thief 
caught  in  the  act. 

"  Show  that  woman  to  the  door !" 

"Sir!"  stammered  John,  scarcely  knowing  how  to  act.  "  If 
I  obey  him,  she  will  blab,  and  I'm  ruined ;  if  I  do  not  obey, 
he  will  kick  me  out,  and  then  I'm  equally  done  for !"  he  mut 
tered. 

Mrs.  Rodgers  saw  that  her  game  was  up,  and  eyeing  the  old 
gentleman  with  an  air  of  mingled  hatred  and  defiance,  she  said — 

"  Miserable,  cowardly  dotard !  take  back  that  order,  or — " 

"  John  !"  interrupted  the  retired  merchant,  "  take  that  woman 
and  throw  her  into  the  street !" 

i4  Fool !  he  will  not  dare—" 

But  Mrs.  Rodgers  was  mistaken.  John  did  dare.  Of  the  two 
dangers,  he  wisely  chose  the  least.  "  The  master  to  the  woman  !" 
he  muttered,  taking  the  astounded  housekeeper  by  the  shoulder 
with  one  hand,  and,  to  prevent  her  from  using  her  tongue,  sud 
denly  and  rudely  covering  her  mouth  with  the  other.  Then,  with 
a  quick,  energetic  movement,  he  forced  her  first  into  the  hall,  and 
from  thence  into  the  street. 

"  Now,  traitress  !"  he  said,  with  a  mocking  laugh,  as  he  reclosed 
the  door,  "  yell  away,  and  I  hope  it  will  do  you  good !" 

"  Throw  her  things  after  her !"  said  his  master,  sternly. 

John  called  one  of  the  servants,  and  hurried  up  to  the  house 
keeper's  room,  from  which  he  presently  returned  with  a  large 
trunk,  followed  by  his  companion  with  a  large  swagging 
bundle  of  frocks,  shawls,  and  hats,  all  of  which  were  flung  out 
after  their  owner,  who  was  standing  upon  the  walk  and  glaring 
up  at  the  door  like  an  infuriated  tigress. 


WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT.          523 

"  Pen,  ink,  and  paper !"  said  Mr.  Townsend,  when  John  re 
turned. 

They  were  brought,  and  placed  upon  the  centre-table. 
The  retired  merchant  sat  down  and  wrote  a  single  line. 

"  DEAR  MIRIAM — Come  to  me,  as  you  promised.     I  am  ill." 

It  was  as  he  had  foreseen.  The  excitement  of  the  last  half 
hour  upon  his  feeble  frame  terminated  in  prostration. 

In  forty-eight  hours,  Miriam  stood  at  the  bedside  of  her  uncle, 
who  was  in  a  raging  fever. 

Miriam  was  changed  from  a  slender,  delicate  girl  of  twenty, 
to  a  handsome,  matronly  woman  of  thirty -three.  Her  form  was 
more  developed  than  when  in  youth,  but  so  charmingly  rounded 
as  to  intensify  its  beauty.  Her  face  was  full,  but  of  a  fair, 
polished  smoothness,  which  rendered  it  at  once  impressive  and 
majestic.  Her  dark  hair,  parted  over  her  mild  but  earnest  fore 
head,  unblemished  by  spot  or  wrinkle,  fell  in  a  smooth,  modest 
mass  down  either  cheek,  from  whence  it  curved  off  to,  and  over, 
her  small,  symmetrical  ears.  A  straight,  flat  collar,  confined  by 
a  ribbon,  revealed  a  faint  glimpse  of  a  throat  and  neck  white  as 
ivory,  and  of  exquisite  chiselling.  She  wore  a  black  velvet 
basque,  or  jacket,  of  black  velvet,  which  developed  a  bust  of  rare 
gracefulness,  modesty,  and  symmetry,  and  which  closed  over  a 
flowing  skirt  of  plain  silk  of  tire  same  ebon  hue.  Her  small 
hands,  with  their  plump  but  tapering  fingers,  were  in  keeping  with 
her  complexion,  which  was  of  a  dazzling,  yet  transparent  white 
ness.  Over  her  features  still  lingered  that  mingled  tone  of  calm 
serenity  and  thoughtful  earnestness  which  rendered  her  so  winning 
in  her  earlier  days.  Her  general  air  was  that  of  one  whose 
pious  mind  never  descended  to  an  unworthy  thought. 

Miriam's  presence  was  electrical.  A  few  days  worked  won 
ders  in  the  disorganized  household.  Chaos  vanished  —  order 


524  WHICH:   THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

came  back  ;  and  quiet  reigned,  and  comfort.  The  old  gentleman 
smiled  gratefully  upon  his  niece. 

"Dear  Miriam,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand,  affectionately, 
"  how  I  recognize  the  hallowing  influence  of  your  gentle  spirit !" 

"  Don't  flatter  your  poor  Mirry,  uncle,  for  a  merit  not  her 
own !" 

"  Not  her  own  !"  repeated  the  invalid,  feebly.    "  Whose,  then  ?" 

"  His  /"  answered  his  niece,  with  a  reverent  gesture. 

The  old  gentleman  sighed.  Miriam  descended  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  receive  some  visitors  who  desired  to  learn  the  state  of 
the  invalid's  health,  while  the  invalid  himself  dropped  off  into  a 
revery,  at  the  close  of  which  he  sent  for  his  attorney  and  Mr. 
Crittenden.  The  trio  were  closeted  for  upward  of  two  hours, 
carrying  on  their  conversation  in  low  tones,  much  to  the  annoy 
ance  of  the  new  man  John,  who,  although  he  listened  very  care 
fully  at  the  key -hole,  could  only  make  out  three  facts,  viz. :  that 
the  old  gentleman  was  making  his  will,  that  he  was  leaving  over 
a  million,  and  that  he  was  constituting  his  niece  as  his  sole  heir. 

A  few  days  passed  on,  and  the  invalid  was  apparently  better, 
although  by  no"5 means  in  a  condition  to  leave  his  bed.  Never 
theless,  he  felt  comfortable.  A  sense  of  security  stole  over  him 
as  he  looked  at  Miriam.  He  felt  that  in  her  he  had  one  who 
would  "  be  good  to  him,"  from  a  nobler  motive  than  interest. 
He  flattered  himself  that  if  there  was  such  a  thing  as  spiritual 
danger,  the  purity  of  that  single  heart  would  do  something  in 
his  favor. 

They  conversed  together  daily  upon  general  topics,  but — 
now  could  it  be  otherwise  with  Miriam'? — mainly  upon  religion  ; 
the  old  gentleman — partly  from  habit,  partly  from  a  desire  to 
conceal  his  life-long  hypocrisy  from  his  niece,  and  partly  from 
an  unwillingness  to  take  a  stand  against  statements  which  might 
be  true,  after  all — always  siding  with  Miriam,  with  a  calm, 
matter-of-course  air,  as  if  he  fully  shared  in  her  sentiments ;  and 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          525 

always  carefully  omitting  the  most  distant  reference  to  the  gases. 
And  yet  the  old  gentleman  was  sensible  that  he  was  doing  him 
self  a  great  wrong  by  this  course  ;  but — habit — habit ! 

"  Never  mind,"  he  would  mutter,  by  way  of  consoling  himself, 
"  I  will  pluck  up  one  of  these  days,  and  face  the  subject  like  a 
man.  I  am  mending  now  in  health,  and  when  I  get  perfectly 
well — as  I  certainly  shall  do  under  Miriam's  kind  treatment — I'll 
make  a  calm,  honest  examination  of  the  matter,  and  abide  by 
the  result.  Yes — one  of  these  days  !" 

In  the  meanwhile  he  had  his  fears,  and  found  it  necessary  to 
resort  to  John  for  consolation ;  which  the  latter  was  always 
ready  to  administer. 

"John,"  the  invalid  would  say,  whenever  his  niece  was  called 
away  by  her  other  duties  from  his  bedside,  "  you  heard  what 
Mrs.  Leland  said  in  the  course  of  her  remarks  1" 

"Yes,  sir — every  word." 

"  Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say  now  T' 

John  understood  his  master  very  well,  and  considered  it  his 
policy  to  be  consistent. 

"  The  same  as  before,  sir." 

"  I  am  amazed  at  you,  rascal !" 

"  Can't  help  that,  sir.  I  stick  to  my  own  views,  because  they 
are  founded  upon  common  sense." 

"  Yes,  John,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  waveringly ;  "  but  it 
appears  to  me  that  my  niece's  views  are  based  upon  common 
sense,  also !" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir,"  returned  John,  who  saw  how  his  master 
desired  to  be  answered,  and  shaped  his  reply  accordingly.  "  They 
are  founded  only  upon  Scripture,  and  that,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
is  all  gammon.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  any  wiser  than  the  world, 
sir  !" 

"Well,  but  John — don't  you  see  how  happy  my  niece  is  in 
her  belief?  Don't  you  see  that,  rascal  ?" 


526         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir,  we  can  be  happy  in  any  belief,  if  we  only 
do  believe  in  it.  That's  all  that  is  required,  sir,  depend  upon  it !" 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  John — perhaps  you  are  right!" 
returned  his  master,  persuading  himself,  but  very  faintly,  that  he, 
believed,  very  firmly,  in  his  doctrine ;  and  yet  wondering  how 
it  was  that  he  didn't  feel  so  very,  very  happy. 

Sixty-seven — sixty,  eight. 

How  merciless  is  Time  !  Never  pausing,  not  even  for  an  old 
man,  but  rolling  on,  driving  on,  hurrying  on,  as  if  bent  upon 
forcing  him,  whether  he  be  ready  or  no,  into  the  yawning  loam. 

"  When  one  gets  old,"  mused  the  invalid,  attempting  to  en 
liven  himself  with  a  small,  sad  joke, 4'  he  don't  like  to  be  hurried  ! 
What  he  then  wants  is  rest !  Here  I  am  pushed  on  to  sixty- 
eight.  Why,  it  was  only  yesterday  that  I  was  fifty.  By  the  same 
rule,  I  shall  be  sixty-nine  in  less  than  half  an  hour  !  Well — well ; 
that  rascal,  Time,  is  without  a  conscience,  or  he  would  never 
press  a  poor  old  fellow  in  this  manner.  Sixty-eight?  I  could 
never  have  believed  it.  And  yet  I  feel  very  well  this  morning' 
too  !  But  sixty-eight !  If  some  one  would  but  push  me  back  again 
to  fifty,  or  so !  Fifty  !  What  a  prime  age — so  full  of  mental  ripe 
ness  and  physical  nerve  !  Dear  me — what  a  man  /was  at  fifty  ! 
So  strong  in  mind,  and  body,  and  business,  and — money  !  And 
now  f  Well,  well !  I'm  older,  a  little  older ;  that's  all.  I  shall 
see  ninety,  yet — yes,  ninety.  What  a  prime  old  codger  I'll  be 
at  that  age !  Wonder  if  I  shall  have  any  teeth  left  then,  or  hair  ! 
Some  of  the  nineties  don't  /" 

The  sun  was  shining  (the  old  gentleman  was  fond  of  the  sun), 
the  air  was  bright,  clear,  and  invigorating,  and  the  old  gentleman 
was  very  happy,  and — sixty-eight ! 

But  the  next  day  was  cold  and  cloudy,  and  the  old  gentlemaq 
was  silent,  meditative,  and  gloomy. 

"  John !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  527 

"  Are  you  quite,  quite  sure  about  the  gases  T' 

"  Quite  sure,  sir !  I'm  confident  of  everything  that's  got  good 
sense  to  back  it !" 

Old  gentleman  shakes  his  head  in  doubt. 

"  But  here  comes  Mrs.  Leland,  sir !" 

"  Then,  John,  go  you  away.  Go  down  stairs,  John.  I  shall 
not  want  you  again  till  noon ;  for  Mrs.  Leland  will  stay  with 
me  till  then.  Go  down  stairs,  John." 

"  Yes,  sir."     John  vanishes,  as  Miriam  enters. 

"  Good-morning,  uncle.     How  did  you  rest  during  the  night?" 

"  Quite  well,  my  dear.  But  I  don't  feel  very  bright  this  morn 
ing.  Sit  down  here,  and  talk  to  me." 

Miriam  seats  herself  by  the  bedside,  and  surveys  the  old  gen 
tleman  with  an  air  of  mingled  tenderness  and  solicitude. 

"  How  do  you  feel  at  heart,  uncle  ?     Is  all  well,  within  ?" 

Old  gentleman  don't  like  to  expose  himself,  and  pretends  not 
to  have  heard  her.  Is  suddenly  touched  with  an  idea. 

"  Miriam,  my  dear,  what  was  that  strange  conceit  of  Aunt 
Betsy's,  of  which  you  were  telling  me  ?" 

"  That  every  family  has  its  appointed  year  or  period,  beyond 
which  its  members  rarely  or  never  go." 

"  A  singular  notion.  Have  you  any  faith  in  it  yourself,  my 
dear?" 

"  I  presume  it  to  be  true  iri  the  main,  uncle.  Aunt  Betsy 
keeps  a  private  record  of  the  ages  of  our  Enfield  families,  and  it 
certainly  bears  out  her  theory." 

"  Indeed  1  Be  kind  enough  to  get  our  old  family  Bible,  and 
let  us  see  how  the  Townsends  run  !"  said  her  uncle,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

Miriam  took  the  volume,  and  turning  to  the  family  record, 
commenced  reading:  — 

"  'John  Townsend,  son  of  William,  died  January  1<*  1750, 
aged  37  years.' " 


528         WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

"  Ah !  yes,"  remarked  her  uncle,  "  he  was  killed  by  the  In 
dians.  But  never  mind  the  young  fellows,  who  perished  by 
accident,  or  disease.  Read  only  of  those  who  'held  out,'  as 
Aunt  Betsy  expresses  it,  '  to  the  regular  time.'  Run  through 
the  record  with  your  pencil,  and  then  read  them  off,  omitting 
everything  but  the  names  and  ages.  Now,"  he  said,  when  his 
request  had  been  followed,  "  now  go  on." 

"  '  William  Townsend,'  "  began  Miriam,  "  *  aged  sixty-eight 
years  and  ninety  days.  Francis,  second  son  of  William,  sixty- 
eight  years  and  twenty  days.  Rachel,  daughter  of  William, 
sixty-five  years  and  forty-seven  days.  Joseph,  son  of  Francis, 
sixty-eight  years  and  twelve  days.  Charles,  son  of  Francis — '  " 

"  My  father,"  mused  the  listener,  pricking  up  his  ears. 

" '  Sixty-eight  years  and  seven  days'  "  (old  gentleman  starts). 
"  '  Edward,  son  of  Charles,  sixty-eight  years  and  three  days.' " 
(Old  gentleman  white  as  a  sheet.)  "  'Joseph,  son  of  Charles, 
sixty-eight  years  and  nine  days.  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Charles, 
sixty-seven  years  and  fifty  days.'  " 

Old  gentleman  pale  and  speechless — his  eyes  glaring  with 
terror. 

Miriam  agitated,  but  calm.  Rings  bell  for  assistance  and  the 
doctor.  The  latter  comes,  surveys  patient,  prescribes  a  powder, 
and  retires,  shaking  his  head  while  descending  the  stairs.  Old 
gentleman  comes  to,  and  feels  better  towards  evening.  Miriam 
is  fearful,  and  sends  for  Mr.  Crittenden,  both  of  whom  spend 
the  night  with  the  old  gentleman;  praying  for  him  while  he  is 
yet  awake,  and  praying  for  him  while  he  sleeps. 

Morn  comes,  and  finds  the  Christian  watchers  at  their  posts. 
Invalid  wakes  up  much  better.  Watchers  survey  and  talk  with 
him  a  little  while,  and  then  finding  him  apparently  mending,  re 
tire  for  a  few  hours'  sleep — John  and  female  servant  taking  their 
places. 

The  sun  is  shining,  and  old  gentleman  feels  somewhat  stronger. 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          529 

Thinks,  however,  that  a  change  is  taking  place  in  his  system, 
but  is  not  quite  sure.  Has  an  idea  that  a  torpor  is  settling 
around  his  feet ;  but  is  not  certain.  Tells  John  of  it,  who, 
assisted  by  his  fellow-servant,  rubs  the  affected  part  with  lini 
ment,  after  which  invalid  thinks  he  is  fresher  and  more  comfort 
able  than  for  many  days.  Becomes  meditative,  and  is  disturbed 
ere  long  by  serious  thoughts.  Begins  to  think  the  gases  all 
fudge,  and  the  Scriptures  solemnly  true.  Is  startled  at  length 
by  an  admonishing  voice  within  him  : 

"  Old  man,  old  man — what  art  thou  doing  1  Be  up,  be  up, 
and  stirring :  for  this  is  thy  last  year.  It  is  thy  soul,  thy  SOUL 
that's  speaking.  Be  up,-  sir — be  up  and  stirring.  If  thou  hast 
any  thinking  to  do — think  it  at  once,  and  quickly.  If  thou  hast 
any  resolve  to  make — make  it  at  once,  and  bravely.  If  thou 
hast  any  words  to  say,  say  them  at  once  and  firmly.  Wake  up, 
old  man — wake  up.  For  thou  hast  reached  thy  family's  closing 
year.  Wake  up,  old  man — wake  up  !" 

Old  gentleman  very  much  disturbed.  "  Yes,"  he  mutters,, 
firmly,  and  in  alarm,  "  I  will — I  will.  I'll  think  of  it,  and  face 
it,  bravely,  like  a  man,  the  first  thing  to-morrow  !" 

To-morrow  ?    Ah — habit,  habit ! 

"John— " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Rub  my  feet  and  legs  again  with  the  liniment,  and  then 
bolster  me  up  comfortably.  My  head  aches  with  lying  down 
so  much." 

"  Yes,  sir."     In  a  few  minutes :     "All  right  now,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes.  Now  go  over  there  by  the  window,  and  don't  talk, 
John.  I  want  to  think.  When  I  want  you,  I'll  call  for  you." 

John  takes  up  paper  and  reads — fellow-servant  takes  up  a 
book,  and  in  ten  minutes  old  gentleman  is  forgotten. 

Old  gentleman  is  thinking.     Memory  has  come  back  in  all  its 
freshness.     He  sees  himself  in  the  old  school-room  beneath  the 
23 


530          WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

church  once  more,  with  his  mates  around  him,  and  the  old  teacher 
behind  the  desk ;  anon  rollicking  over  the  green,  climbing  the 
neighboring  hills,  gunning  in  the  woods,  listening  on  the  Sabbath 
morning  to  the  summons  of  the  old  church  bell.  The  dear  old 
days  of  innocence,  truthfulness,  and — happiness. 

Young  manhood.  He  has  reached  the  city,  and  commenced 
his  man's  career.  His  brow  grows  cloudy — at  what  ?  The 
memory  of  his  first  business  lie !  He  feels  again  the  guilty 
blush  which  came  up  with  it,  and  the  hot  glow  which  darted  like 
a  low  fire  through  his  veins. 

Middle  manhood.  In  business  on  his  own  account.  Plans — 
"bad  ones — laid  down,  and  followed  out.  Marries — -joins  the 
Church,  affects  piety  for  lucrej  and — a  long  train  of  years,  made 
up  of  an  equally  long  train  of  lies,  hypocrisies,  and  little  mean 
frauds.  Old  gentleman  horrified.  But  he  will  repent — yes,  he 
will  repent — he  will.  When  1  To-morrow. 

Torpor  coming  back  to  his  feet  again.  Makes  a  sign.  John 
and  the  woman  approach ;  the  liniment  does  its  work,  and 
old  gentleman  feels  a  little  better,  once  more.  But  not  long. 
The  torpor  is  returning,  and  this  time  in  a  cold,  crampy  way, 
which  fills  the  invalid  with  affright.  A  cold  sweat  starts  out 
from  his  brow  and  cheeks.  His  eyes  enlarge  staringly  with  a 
wild,  fixed  air  of  dread — of  horror. 

"  John — "  in  a  tone,  sharp  and  shrieking,  and  yet  half  broken 
and  half  smothered — "call  Mrs.  Leland,  Mr.  Crittenden — the 
doctor — quick.  Don't  you  see — something  is  the  matter. 
Quick !" 

John  flies  with  a  "  Yes,  sir — keep  up  your  heart — be  back  in 
a  moment,  sir !" 

The  woman  would  follow,  but  cannot.  She  is  fascinated — 
appalled  by  that  tone  and  that  countenance,  so  full  of  maniacal 
terror. 

"  What !"  cries  the  voice  again,  in  a- piteous  moan.     "  It  can't 


WHICH:  THE  BIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          531 

be — CAN  it?  I  am  not  prepared  for  it.  Oh,  no — don't.  One 
day  more — but  one,  and  Til  get  ready !" 

Mr.  Crittenden  enters,  deeply  agitated.  One  glance  at  his  old 
partner,  and  he  is  down  upon  his  knees. 

"  Lord,  Lord  !  have  mercy  upon  him  !  O,  Jesus,  Prince  of 
Righteousness !  come  Thou  to  his  rescue  !" 

Enter  Miriam,  pale  and  trembling. 

Old  gentleman  struggling,  confusedly,  every  feature  alive  with 
terror.  •  .'  ;*.<;• 

Miriam  and  Mr.  Crittenden — 

"  Lord !  Lord  !  have  mercy  upon  him  !  Jesus,  Prince  of  Good 
ness  !  befriend  this  trembling  soul  in  its  parting  agony.  If  ft 
be  not  already  one  of  Thine,  stretch  out  Thine  arm  kindly — " 

Old  gentleman,  shrinking — 

"  Death !  No — no.  I  am  not  ready.  Go  away.  I  haven't 
thought  of  it.  Away — away.  It  won't  do — it  mustn't.  I — I 
can't  afford  it — I  mustn't.  Give  me  time — a  day — an  hour. 
Let  me  go,  I  say.  I  can't  give  in — I  dare  not — I  will  not.  Ah  ! 
help — help.  There's  a  devil  here — he's  strangling  me.  Take 
him  off.  He's  got  me  by  the  throat.  Help — mercy — help. 
Fire — fire.  Help — help,  somebody.  Take  him  off — help — 
hel— " 

A  fierce  struggle  with  some  invisible  enemy — eyes  staring  in 
terror — voice  choking  in  horror — the  bed-clothes  rumpled  and 
torn,  and — the  IMPENITENT  has  taken  his  leap! 

Charley  Gibbs  had  a  stern  legal  tussle  with  his  guardian ;  but 
he  came  off  conqueror  in  the  end.  With  the  money,  he  purchased 
a  sixteenth  interest  in  the  great  house  of  John  P.  Townsend  :  a 
judicious  investment,  and  one  which  he  has  never  yet  repented. 
With  his  triumph  in  the  lawsuit,  came  a  union  with  his  little  Fan. 
A  rural  cottage  in  a  suburban  village  completed  his  felicity.  He. 
occupies  it  still;  and  is  regarded  by  those  around  him  as  a 
good  neighbor,  and  a  mild,  pleasant,  even-tempered  gentleman. 


532         WHICH:    THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT. 

We  should  like  to  say  more  of  him,  if  we  could ;  but  we  have 
no  more  to  tell. 

Bill  Bradley's  adopted  mother  has  joined  her  Prince.  She 
was  called  away  on  a  pleasant  autumn  evening,  and  set  out  on 
her  journey  with  a  smile.  She  departed  with  the  joyful  know 
ledge  that  her  affectionate  son  was  in  the  ark  of  safety  ;  and  with 
the  equally  pleasing  consciousness  that  he  was  mated  with  one 
who  was  worthy  of  him,  and  that  he  was  the  father  of  a  gallant 
boy  who  would  yet  do  good  battle  for  his  Prince,  and  who  gave 
evidence  that  he  had  in  him  the  brave,  earnest  spirit  of  him  whose 
name  he  bore — Samuel.  They  are  a  happy  Christian  family — 
•the  manly  packer,  his  gentle  consort,  and  their  noble  boy — in  the 
serene  features  of  whose  mother,  we  recognize  those  of  our  old 
friend  the  laundress.  Pleasant  is  their -noon;  and  as  pleasant 
will  be  their  even:  for  they  are  of  His  people. 

Mr.  Crittenden  still  lives :  a  brave  and  loyal  soldier  to  his 
Prince.  His  heart  fails  not,  his  scrip  wants  not,  his  hand  faints 
not.  The  great  house  of  John  P.  Townsend  is  now  the  great 
house  of  R.  Crittenden.  It  grows  stronger  year  by  year,  and 
it  remains  true  to  the  noble  principle  which  led  to  its  present 
gigantic  trade.  Notwithstanding  his  vast  business  cares,  Mr. 
Crittenden  finds  ample  time  for  other  matters,  as  many,  whom 
want  and  suffering  have  stricken  down,  will  gladly  testify. 
He  is  somewhat  in  years  now ;  but  Time  deals  gently  with  him. 
His  tall,  slender  form  is  neither  bent,  nor  weakened.  His  hair 
is  sx>mewhat  silvered,  but  it  is  so  delicately  mingled  with  the 
black,  that  it  ennobles  and  intensifies  the  impressiveness  of  his  air. 
The  deforming  sneer  has  long  vanished  from  his  lip  ;  in  its  place 
reigns  an  expression  of  rare  sweetness.  His  general  aspect  is 
that  of  a  mild,  earnest-minded  gentleman,  whom  every  one  would 
instinctively  respect,  but  whom  any  one  might  approach.  He  is 
known  and  loved.  Abounding  in  wealth,  he  scatters  it  freely 
among  the  various  religious,  benevolent,  and  educational  institu- 


WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.  533 

tions  of  the  day.  Young  stragglers  in  business,  whose  moral 
character  is  without  stain,  find  in  him  a  ready  and  unwavering 
friend ;  and  many  who  were  young  strugglers  once,  but  who  are 
now  staunch  and  prosperous,  regard  him  with  an  eye  of  affec 
tion,  as  one  who,  in  their  early  days,  helped  them  kindly  on  their 
way.  Young  men  studying  for  the  ministry  partake  continually 
of  his  means ;  and  many  of  the  energetic  preachers  of  to-day  are 
living  monuments  of  his  timely  aid  in  helping  them  through  col 
lege.  Missionaries  at  home,  and  in  distant  lands,  speak  of  him 
with  gratitude  and  affection.  Embarrassed  churches  or  educa 
tional  institutions  never  appeal  to  him  in  vain.  Whenever  and 
wherever  good  can  be  done  with  money,  his  heart  is  ever  eager, 
his  hand  ever  free.  His  friends  sometimes  chide  him  for  what 
they  term  his  too  great  liberality ;  but  he  answers,  gently — 

"  Why,  what  would  you  have  ?  I  am  simply  an  humble  cash 
ier  of  my  Lord's  treasury ;  and  when  His  people  present  their 
demands,  they  must  be  paid.  My  Master's  workmen  must  live, 
as  well  as  the  world's.  Be  content :  if  you  should  yourselves 
come  to  want,  apply  to  me.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  operations 
of  my  Lord  and  Prince  must  go  on." 

And  thus,  loving  and  loved,  he  glides  down  the  shore  of 
Time  ;  scattering  his  benefactions  kindly,  freely,  yet  judiciously, 
on  the  way ;  and  drawing  nearer,  day  by  day,  to  his  inheritance 
in  The  Bright  Beyond. 


CONCLUSION. 

*H|- 

MAN  ALONG  THE  PATHWAY  !  who,  absorbed  in  life's  daily  busi 
ness,  hast  inadvertently  forgotten  the  comforting  lessons  of  thine 
early  youth,  and  art  wandering,  uneasily,  thou  knowest  not 
whither — halt,  and  shake  off,  for  a  moment,  thy  dream  of 
money  and  of  little  greatness,  thy  little  hatreds  and  corroding 
cares,  thy  surface  piety  and  little  pride,  and  call  up  memories  of 
Childhood's  nobler,  happier  time. 

Then  thy  lip  was  honest,  thy  smile  genial,  thy  mind  easy, 
and  thy  heart  at  rest  and  without  guile. 

It  was  thy  HOLY  time. 

Then  thou  wert  a  spring-bud  which  had  not  yet  wholly  blos 
somed,  nor  opened  all  thy  petals  to  the  world. 

There  were  hours  then,  when  God  spake  to  thee — when  thou 
didst  hear  His  voice,  when  thou  didst  feel  the  impress  of  His 
finger  on  thy  heart. 

It  was  through  thy  father's  voice  in  prayer,  thy  mother's  in  the 
hymn  at  even,  thy  teacher's  in  the  Sabbath  School,  and  in  thy 
pastor's,  when  he  told  thee  and  all  of  Him  who  said — "/  am  the 
Way  and  the  Life." 

Through  the  seraphs  who  whispered  thee  in  thy  dreams,  and 
bade  thee,  throughout  life's  many  struggles,  to  make  thy  greatest 
struggle  for  a  bright  home  UP  THERE. 

It  was  a  season  when  thou  wert  happy — when  thou  wert  but 
a  little  way  from  an  angel ;  when,  hadst  thou  gone,  like  many  of 
*thy  mates,  to  a  couch  in  the  Silent  Lodge,  the  immortal  part  of 
thee  might  have  taken  wing  for  a  place  among  the  cherubs. 

(684) 


WHICH  :  THE  EIGHT,  OR  THE  LEFT.          535 

And  thou  wert  happy,  THEN — happier  than  ever  since — than 
now! 

Thou  hadst  not  then,  O  flower  in  earth's  garden  !  thrown  open 
all  thy  petals  to  the  world.  Thou  hadst  not  then,  O  heart ! 
wandered  away,  little  by  little,  from  the  Right  to  the  Left.  Thou 
hadst  not  then,  O  soul !  set  up  an  altar  to  thyself,  and  burned 
incense  daily  to  thine  own  little  pride,  thine  own  selfishness,  and 
thine  own  little  greatness.  Thou  hadst  not  then  set  out  for  money 
and  fame,  and  picked  up,  with  your  dollars,  little  mean  weak 
nesses,  little  mean  hatreds,  little  mean  jealousies,  and  little 
mean  desires  to  be  thought  a  little  smarter,  a  little  better,  a 
little  richer,  a  little  greater,  or  a  little  braver  than  your  fellow- 
men. 

You  were  fair  and  artless,  then — with  no  fretting  ambition  to 
neutralize  your  thoughts  of  goodness,  your  occasional  glimpse  of 
heaven. 

Happy  when  you  rose  from  your  couch  in  the  morning  ;  happy 
through  the  day,  whichVas  like  a  long  sunny  noon ;  happy  when 
you  laid  down  at  night  to  rest  and  to  dream — with  angels  for 
your  watchers,  and  God  for  your  security,  till  the  dawn. 

Ah !  how  happy,  how  guileless,  and  how  good !  And  therefore 
a  holy  time.  Bless  it,  then,  as  the  one  lone  season  in  your  jour 
ney  along  The  Pathway,  to  which  you  can  look  back  without 
regret's  inner  pain.  Bless  it  as  the  hallowed  and  the  hallowing 
time  when  all  things  wore  an  air  of  loveliness,  because  your  pure 
eye  saw  them  as  they  appeared,  and  without  a  lurking  suspicion 
of  the  danger  or  the  evil  that  they  veiled ;  and  when  your  mind, 
in  the  simplicity  of  its  goodness,  judged  all  men  and  all  things 
by  the  honest  standard  of  Right  and  Wrong,  and  not  by  the  cold 
gauge  of  worldly  Policy. 

Happy  ?  Yes,  thrice  happy.  For  then,  in  thee,  was  the  sweet 
balm  of  mingled  innocence  and  simplicity;  around  thee,  the 


536  WHICH:  THE  EIGHT,  OK  THE  LEFT. 

refreshing  odors  of  parental  love,  of  pure  thoughts,  of  truthful 
utterances,  and  trusting  confidence  in  God. 

Why  not  be  as  happy,  once  again — as  guileless,  loving,  gentle, 
and  confiding? 

It  is  easy. 

Turn  again  to  the  simple  artlessness  and  honest  truthfulness 
of  childhood — turn  again  to  the  happier  time.  Become  again  a 
little  child,  in  heart;  turn  again,  as  when  a  little  child,  to  Him, 
innocently,  confidingly,  on  thy  knees. 

And  again  will  come  back  to  thee  comfort;  again,  purity,  sim 
plicity,  sweetness ;  again,  bright  pictures  in  hallowing  dreams ; 
and  again,  seraph  whispers,  telling  thee  of  dear  ones  whom  thou 
hast  known  and  loved,  who  are  awaiting  thy  coming  in  THE 
LAND  BEYOND  THE  STARS. 


THE  END, 


*•    .'1 


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Which:  the  right  or     Al 
the  left?  W5 


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